a*  e 


4 


FIRESIDE  POETICAL  READINGS, 


ILLUSTRATIVE    OF   AMERICAN   SCENERY,   RURAL   LIFE,  AND   HISTORICAL 
INCIDENTS,    AND   ALSO    OF   RELIGIOUS   FEELINGS, 


DESIGNED    AS    A 


DOMESTIC  AND  RELIGIOUS  OFFERING, 


COLLECTED    AND    PUBLISHED 


BY   DEXTER    S.   KING. 


BOSTON: 
D.  8.  KING,  NO.  1  CORNHILL. 

1843. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  ia  the  year  1842,  in  the  District  Clerk's 
Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Maine. 


WM.  WHITE  *  II.  P.  LEWIS, 

PRINTERS, 
riR  BOiTOn  TTPS  FOCSDBT.  SPRING  LAM 


NOTICE. 


IT  has  been  the  object  of  the  Publisher,  in  col- 
lecting and  publishing  the  materials  of  this  volume, 
to  present  to  the  public  a  work  which,  while  it  did 
not  exclude  other  topics,  should,  as  a  whole,  be  de- 
cidedly of  a  moral  and  religious  character. 

In  the  present  state  of  popular  literature  it  is  some 
commendation  to  say,  that  the  following  poems 
contain  nothing  offensive  to  correct  taste,  morals, 
and  religion.  But  this  is  not  all.  We  cannot  but 
think,  that  the  lovers  of  genuine  poetry,  those  who 
can  distinguish  between  the  truth  and  the  exaggera- 
tions of  nature,  will  find  something  in  them  that  is 
substantial  and  positive.  In  making  this  remark,  we 
rely  upon  the  ascertained  opinions  of  others,  as 
much  and  more  than  upon  our  own.  The  attempt 
to  describe  American  Cottage  Life,  in  the  poems  on 
that  subject,  and  in  the  Days  of  Youth,  is  some- 
thing new,  and  is  not  without  its  difficulties ;  but 
we  do  not  doubt  that  some  portions  of  them,  at 
least,  will  find  a  responsive  chord  in  many  bosoms. 


The  work  is  patriotic  and  American  in  its  character, 
as  well  as  Christian.  It  is  perhaps  proper  to  add, 
that  the  materials  of  this  volume  are  all  from  one 
hand ;  but  it  will  be  seen  that  there  is  ample  variety 
both  in  the  topics  introduced  and  in  the  manner  of 
illustrating  them.  D.  S.  K. 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I.— THE  DOMESTIC  OFFERING. 

Reflections  on  the  New  Year 9 

Days  of  Youth.     Part  1 12 

"      "        "            "      II 27 

Vanity  of  Human  Pursuits 42 

AMERICAN  COTTAGE  LIFE. 

The  Farmer's  Fireside 53 

The  Home  in  the  Mountains 63 

The  Winter  Evening 71 

The  Cottage  Revisited 81 

The  Widow  and  her  Children 91 

The  Snow-Storm 98 

Thanksgiving  Day 104 

BALLADS  AND  SONGS. 

Death  of  Colonel  Hayne 114 

Destruction  of  the  Willey  Family 122 

Yanko,  the  Noble  Negro 131 

The  Frozen  Family  of  Illinois 137 

Dark-Rolling  Connecticut 143 

The  Closing  Year 144 

The  Sick  Child 145 

The  Wounded  Bird 146 

The  Hunters 147 

'T  is  Many  a  Year 148 

When  the  Cherub  of  Mercy 149 

The  Landscape 150 

Sing  that  Song  Again 150 

Song  of  the  Pilgrims 151 

The  Daughters  of  the  Sun 153 

The  Bower 154 

The  Deserted  Island 154 

The  Exile's  Song 155 

When  Autumn's  Star  was  Brightly  Beaming 156 


4  CONTENTS. 

Cocheco 158 

Maid  of  Suncook 159 

Sweep  Harp  of  my  Country 160 


PART  II.— THE  RELIGIOUS  OFFERING. 

Patmos,  or  Meditations  in  Solitude 163 

The  Sabbath 178 

Evening  Reflections 185 

Sennacherib 186 

Dying  Thoughts 187 

SCRIPTURE  SONNETS. 

The  Liberty  of  the  Gospel 188 

Divine  Light „ 189 

The  Good  Shepherd 190 

Fear  of  Death 191 

The  Power  of  God  in  Creation 192 

The  Sabbath 193 

Necessity  of  Divine  Illumination 194 

Restoration  of  the  Divine  Image   195 

The  Blessed  Name  of  Christ 196 

True  Rectitude 197 

Subjection  to  God 198 

The  Millennial  Day 199 

The  Sovereign  Will 200 

He  standeth  at  the  Door ; . .  201 

Confidence  in  God  in  Bereavements 202 

The  Light  of  Faith 203 

Meekness  of  Spirit 204 

God  Angry  with  Rebellious  Nations 205 

God  Righteous  in  Judgments 206 

Consolation  in  the  Gospel 207 

The  Poor  of  this  World  Rich  in  Christ 208 

Strength  from  the  Cross 209 

Vanity  of  Life 210 

The  Ruler  of  the  Nations 211 

The  Place  of  Refuge 212 

God  Worshipped  in  his  Works 213 

The  Hidden  Life 214 

Help  in  the  Wilderness 215 

Trust  in  the  Saviour 216 

Support  in  Affliction 217 

Christian  Benevolence 218 

The  Book  of  Judgment 219 

The  Source  of  Happiness  in  the  Soul 220 

Death  of  a  Young  Christian 221 

Living  Near  to  Christ 222 


CONTENTS.  0 

Meditations  on  Christ 223 

The  Glimpse  of  Heaven 224 

The  Last  Trump 225 

The  Resurrection 226 

The  True  Ground  of  Joy 227 

The  Pride  of  Man  Confounded 228 

The  Physician  of  the  Mind 229 

Sorrow  for  Sin 230 

Christ's  Yoke  Easy 231 

Love  of  the  World 232 

I  shall  yet  Praise  Him 233 

A  Divided  Mind 234 

Submission  in  Sickness 235 

Light  in  Goshen 236 

The  Voyage 237 

The  Grave  of  the  Beautiful 238 

The  Christian  Pilgrim 239 

Depise  not  the  Beginnings 240 

Uncertainty  of  Earthly  Objects 24] 

God  no  Respecter  of  Persons 242 

The  Fountain  of  Jerusalem 243 

Parental  Bereavement 244 

I  Would  not  Always  Live 245 

Mystery  of  the  New  Birth 246 

Light 247 

Constancy 248 

The  Power  of  Faith 249 

The  Wreck 250 

Religious  Recollections 251 

Depravity  of  the  Heart 252 

Protection  in  Danger 253 

Humility 254 

The  Christian's  Confidence  in  God 255 

I  will  not  Blame  Thee 256 

Vanity  of  Fame 257 

He  Loveth  Whom  He  Chasteneth 258 

Persecution 259 

The  Good  Shepherd 260 

The  Church 261 

The  Returning  Dove 262 

The  Martyrs •  • .  263 

Heaven 264 

Christ's  Intercession 265 

Rejoicing  in  God 266 

Secret  Prayer 267 

Spiritual  Freedom 268 

Union  with  Christ 269 

Eternity  270 

Winter 271 

The  Last  Sleep."; 272 

God  Seen  in  the  .Mind. . .                     273 


6 


CONTENTS. 


RELIGIOUS  HTMNS  AND  SONGS. 

Penitence... 274 

The  Captive  Jew '..'.'.'.  275 

Solomon's  Choice '///.  276 

Like  the  Streams  from  Mount  Hermon 276 

Submission ; 277 

Long  did  the  Clouds  and  Darkness  Roll V.  278 

Jehovah,  Sovreign  of  my  Heart 279 

Oh,  could  I  Rule  my  Erring  Heart 279 

If  Thou  Would  have  the  World  to  Prize 280 

Sometimes  I  Upwards  Lift  my  Eye 281 

Man's  Spirit  hath  an  Upward  Look 282 

The  Secret  Sign 282 

Dark  is  the  Watery  Way 283 

Thou  Giver  of  the  Rising  Light 284 

My  Heart  is  in  a  Land  Afar... 285 

Although  Affliction  Smites  my  Heart 286 

Wilt  Thou,  Oh  My  Father,  Leave  Me 286 

The  Divine  Life 287 

They  say  their  Path  with  Flowers  is  Strown 288 

If  there  is  Sunshine  in  the  Face 288 

Power  ol  God 289 

The  Song  of  the  Angels 290 

God  Praised  in  His  Works 291 

Protection  from  God 291 

The  Orphan 292 

Far  in  the  Lonely  Woods 293 

Earthly  Objects  Unsatisfying 294 

The  Best  Friendship 295 

The  Departing  Christian 296 

Omnipresence  of  the  Deity 296 

Oh,  Could  I  Behold 297 

Doubts  and  Fears 298 

Hymn  at  Sea 299 

The  Pilgrim's  Return 299 

A  Voice  from  the  Dying 300 

The  First  Day  of  the  New  Life 301 

Conversion 302 

Gather  the  Roses 303 

Desiring  to  be  with  Christ 304 

Missionary  Hymn 304 

In  all  the  Countless  Orbs 305 

The  Latter  Day  Glory 306 

If  there  e'er  Was  a  Time 307 

God's  Glory  in  Creation 308 

Encouragement 309 

Day  of  Judgment 309 

Think  not  that  the  Blest 310 

Resurrection  of  the  Saints 311 

Remembrance  in  Prayer 311 

The  Passing  of  Jordan 312 

The  Last  Song 313 


THE 


DOMESTIC  AND  RELIGIOUS  OFFERING. 


PART     FIRST. 


THE  DOMESTIC  OFFERING. 


THE 


DOMESTIC  AND  RELIGIOUS  OFFERING. 


Reflections  on  the  New  Year. 
I. 

HELD  in  their  path  of  glory  by  the  hand, 
That  reared  all  nature's  bright  and  wondrous  frame, 
That  made  the  sky,  the  ocean,  and  the  land, 
And  all  that  dwell  therein,  whate'er  their  name ; 
Held  by  that  wondrous  hand  of  might  and  power, 
The  distant  stars  their  steady  course  have  run, 
The  moon  hath  watched  in  her  aerial  tower, 
Along  his  annual  round  hath  march'd  the  sun, 
Until  his  task  once  more,  his  Zodiac  race,  is  done. 

II. 

Yes !  Time's  unwearied  course  hath  borne  us  on ; 
Successively  the  rapid  seasons  passed ; 
Another  twelve  month's  space  is  come  and  gone, 
And  a  New  Year  upon  the  world  is  cast. 
Time's  noiseless  wheel  rolls  on,  and,  oh  how  fast ! 
'T  is  like  the  tide  that  rushes  to  the  sea; 
Uncounted  things  are  on  it — at  the  last, 
Those  of  the  earth  shall  perish,  cease  to  be, 
But  souls,  a  spark  of  heaven,  go  to  eternity. 


10         REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  NEW  YEAR. 
III. 

The  earth,  still  subject  to  its  ancient  curse, 
Hath  felt  its  storms,  and  shook  with  thunders  dread, 
And  Death,  to  make  its  bosom  populous, 
Hath  smitten  down  full  many  a  weary  head. 
The  young,  the  man  of  scattered  locks  and  gray, 
All  ages  to  the  grave's  cold  rest  have  gone, 
The  dwelling-place  of  silence  and  decay. 
There  dwells  the  worm ;  the  serpent  feeds  upon 
The  soulless  mass  deformed,  and  twines  the  skeleton  bone. 

IV. 

The  living,  too,  whose  bosoms  erst  did  beat 
With  promise  high  and  unabated  joy, 
How  many  now  in  gloomy  sorrow  sit, 
And  constant  woes  their  life  and  hopes  annoy ! 
How  many  in  the  course  of  one  short  year, 
Who  love  received,  and  love  as  warmly  gave, 
Now  shed  o'er  sundered  ties  the  burning  tear ! 
Alas !  earth's  ties  are  often  like  the  wave, 
That  brightly  clasps  the  shore,  then  breaks,  and  seeks 
its  grave. 

V. 

See  here  a  mother  mourning  o'er  her  son ! 
How  desolate  her  soul !     And  seated  there, 
With  countenance  of  deeper  grief,  is  one, 
New  robed  in  widow's  weeds.     Into  thin  air 
And  blackness  terrible  hath  sunk  their  light. 
Oh !  happy  they,  when  joys  terrestrial  fade, 
Who  rest  on  God's  right  arm  and  changeless  might. 
There's  nothing  firm  of  all  things  that  are  made, 
But  life  shall  wane  to  death,  and  substance  change  to  shade. 


REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  NEW  YEAR.          11 
VI. 

Yes,  there's  a  spirit  of  change  in  all  things  round, 
Which  shows  itself,  as  year  on  year  goes  by ; 
Which  at  the  last  shall  sink  the  solid  ground, 
Nor  spare  the  brighter  fabric  of  the  sky ; 
Both  heaven  and  earth  shall  be  one  cemetry. 
Down  from  their  home  of  light  the  stars  shall  fall, 
The  blaze,  that  lights  the  solar  pathway,  die, 
While  clouds  and  flame  shall  wrap  this  earthly  ball; 
Its  wither'd  pomp  depart,  and  fade  its  glory  all. 

VII. 

Boast  not,  because  these  things  have  never  been, 
For  we  shall  see  them,  though  we  see  not  now, 
When  rolls  through  heaven  the  final  trumpet's  din, 
And  lightnings  bind  the  "  seventh  angel's  brow." 
Then  months  and  New  Years  shall  be  o'er.     Ah,  how 
That  final  trump  shall  rock  the  land  and  sea ! 
Then  shall  the  proud,  majestic  mountains  bow, 
The  islands  and  the  continents  shall  flee, 
The  solid  earth  go  down,  and  time  no  more  shall  be. 

VIII. 

The  years  of  earth  shall  pass;  but  heavenly  years 
Shall  start  upon  their  endless  destiny. 
The  joys  of  earth  shall  perish ;  but  no  tears 
Shall  dim  the  brightness  of  the  joys  on  high. 
The  scenes  and  things  below  shall  fade  away ; 
The  brighter  scenes  of  heaven  shall  be  the  same, 
Without  a  blighting  touch,  without  decay ; 
And  all  her  hosts,  in  one  sublime  acclaim, 
Shall  pour  their  transports  high,  and  shout  the  Saviour's 
name. 


12  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 


Days  of  Youth, 

PART    FIRST. 

CONTENTS.  Introduction.  Cowper  on  seeing  the  portrait  of  his 
mother.  Recollections  of  maternal  love  and  care.  A  scene  in 
the  nursery.  The  schoolmistress.  Saturday  afternoon.  Field 
sports.  The  oaken  grove.  The  imprisoned  robins.  The  bower. 
A  scene  in  Autumn.  Thanksgiving  day.  The  Farmer.  Re- 
flections. The  river  Cocheco.  Old  Richards,  the  miller.  River 
sports.  The  solitary  Grandam.  The  story  of  Lucy  Wilson. 
The  Conclusion. 

WHEN  fearless  seamen  spread  the  journeying  sail, 
And  bear  away  beneath  the  welcome  gale, 
To  brave,  o'er  ocean's  waste,  with  hardy  form, 
The  smiting  sun,  the  billow,  and  the  storm, 
Though  firm  their  courage,  oft  their  hearts  they  find 
Filled  with  the  thoughts  of  those  they  left  behind  ; 
And,  as  ihe  ocean  widens,  turn  their  eye, 
To  catch  once  more  their  native  hills  and  sky. 
Where'er  they  go,  whatever  climes  they  roam, 
They  fondly  think  of  country,  friends,  and  home ; 
Repeating  in  each  mess-mate's  listening  ear, 
How  maids  and  matrons  shed  the  parting  tear, 
And  in  the  visions  of  the  night  review 
The  cherished  scenes,  where  many  a  joy  they  knew. 

Remembrance  thus  in  life's  decline  endears 
The  home,  and  scenes,  and  sports  of  earlier  years  ; 
Back  o'er  the  tide  of  time  we  cast  our  eye, 
And  'neath  its  gaze  enchanted  regions  lie ; 


DAYS    OF    YOUTH.  13 

We  see  once  more,  with  fondness  unexpressed, 

The  light  of  early  days,  and  call  them  blessed. 

Sweet  days !     When  life  was  undisturbed  by  cafe, 

And  busy  hope  made  every  vision  fair ; 

When,  passing  swiftly  by,  the  frolic  hours 

Welcomed  and  crowned  each  scene  with  songs  and  flowers ! 

Yes !  That  blest  Power,  which  hath  the  art  to  bring 

Departed  joys  and  visions  on  its  wing, 

Shall  from  oblivion's  mist  their  beam  restore, 

Each  faded  line  and  tint  repair  once  more, 

And  giving  to  them  form,  and  life,  and  truth, 

Hold  up  to  Age  the  mirror  of  its  Youth. 

'T  was  thus,  when  storms  had  gathered  on  his  way, 
And  hope  and  pleasure  dimmed  their  feeble  ray, 
His  swimming  gaze  the  gentle  Cowper  bent 
Upon  his  mother's  pictured  lineament, 
As  late  in  life  into  his  hands  it  came, 
With  lips  and  smile,  as  when  she  lived,  the  same.* 
His  vigils  o'er  the  portrait  long  he  kept, 
And,  as  he  viewed  it,  thought,  remembered,  wept : 
For  Fancy,  quickened  by  his  feelings'  strife, 
Brought  that  dear  mother's  form  and  love  to  life, 
Revealed  her  kindness  in  the  days  gone  by, 
Which  shielded,  and  which  blessed  his  infancy  ; 
Her  "  nightly  visits  to  his  chamber  made," 
That  she  might  see  him  safe  and  warmly  laid ; 
The  fond  solicitude,  that  "  saw  him  wrapped 
In  scarlet  mantle,  warm,  and  velvet-capped," 


*  See  the  beautiful  poem  of  Cowper  on  the  receipt  of  his  mother's  picture  from 
Norfolk,  beginning, 

"  Oh,  that  those  Iip9  had  language  !     Life  hath  passed 
"  With  me  but  roughly  since  I  saw  thee  last." 
1* 


14  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

And  with  the  gardener  Robin,  day  by  day, 
Sent  him  to  school  along  the  public  way. 

I  too  admit  a  mother's  sacred  claim, 

I  too  would  consecrate  that  matchless  name, 

And  like  the  bard  of  Olney  strive  to  pay 

The  grateful  honors  of  my  humble  lay. 

How  oft  the  picture  rises  to  my  view, 

Fresh  as  at  first  its  hues,  distinct,  and  true ! 

How  oft,  in  solitude's  creative  hour, 

When  thought  and  feeling  own  a  quickened  power, 

I  sit  in  pensive  silence  and  retrace 

Each  well  known  feature,  each  attractive  grace ; 

Her  silent  grief,  when  those  she  loved  went  wrong, 

Her  smile,  her  kindly  words,  her  voice  of  song ! 

All  else  may  fail,  all  other  joys  may  die, 

And  leave  the  fount  of  hope  and  feeling  dry, 

But  life  nor  death  shall  from  my  bosom  tear 

A  mother's  looks,  her  kindness,  and  her  care ; 

That  care,  which  further  back  than  memory  goes, 

Heightened  my  early  joys,  or  soothed  my  woes. 

When  life  was  new,  and  scarce  my  infant  sight 
With  a  strange  joy  had  opened  on  the  light, 
She  watched  my  cradle,  wiped  the  starting  tear, 
And  soothed  with  mellowed  song  my  infant  ear. 
There,  as  she  sat,  in  Fancy's  forming  eye, 
The  doubtful  future  passed  in  vision  by, 
That  sometimes  cast  its  brightness  o'er  my  way, 
But  oftener  veiled  in  clouds  the  favoring  ray. 
And  then,  alarmed  with  all  a  mother's  fears, 
She  looked  to  Him,  a  mother's  voice  that  hears, 


DAYS    OP    YOUTH.  15 

And  prayed,  with  faith  and  feeling  unrepressed, 
That  He,  who  stills  the  raven's  hungry  nest, 
That  He,  who  knows,  and  who  alone  can  know 
The  sins  and  sorrows  of  this  world  of  woe, 
Would  guide  her  child  in  life's  uncertain  way, 
Nor  let  temptation  lead  his  steps  astray. 

Soon  as  my  infant  footsteps  dared  explore, 
(No  trifling  journey  then,)  the  nursery  floor, 
She  reached  her  hand,  and  standing  constant  by,    . 
My  progress  watched  with  fond  and  curious  eye ; 
And  when  at  last  I  reached  the  destined  goal, 
Nor  could  but  laugh  aloud  with  joy  of  soul, 
She  shared  my  triumphs,  and  bent  down  to  bless 
My  joyous  brow  with  many  a  warm  caress. 
That  care,  it  knew  no  bound ;  that  love,  no  end ; 
Where'er  I  went,  her  guardian  steps  attend, 
Till  in  my  crimson  frock,  and  bonnet  fine, 
Where  the  first  gathered  rose  was  taught  to  shine, 
Thoughtless,  my  way  to  yonder  school  I  take, 
Loaded  with  kisses,  (what  was  more,)  with  cake. 

And  thou,  the  Mistress  of  our  little  school, 

For  age  revered,  and  wisely  skilled  to  rule, 

From  whom  our  minds  their  infant  knowledge  drew, 

As  flowers  from  vernal  skies  imbibe  the  dew, 

Though  many  years  have  passed  since  then,  art  not 

By  all  thy  little  company  forgot; 

Still  on  our  hearts  thy  virtues  have  a  claim, 

Still  dwells  upon  our  tongues  thine  honored  name. 

When  we  began,  in  learned  order  set 
With  eye  and  finger  on  the  Alphabet, 


16  DAYS    OP    YOUTH. 

The  task,  (a  mighty  task  it  seemed  to  be,) 

To  search  the  mysteries  of  A,  B,  C, 

We  heard  the  changeless  law,  that  not  a  look 

Should  leave  the  pages  of  the  Spelling  Book ; 

That  none  the  seat  assigned  him  should  forsake, 

That  none  with  whispers  should  the  silence  break ; 

Nor  was  it  last  or  smallest  in  the  code, 

Which  ruled  the  realm  of  learning's  young  abode, 

That  none  should  turn  his  luckless  head  awry, 

To  watch  a  spider,  or  impound  a  fly. 

Enthroned  upon  her  ancient  elbow  chair, 

She  swayed  her  sceptre,  and  dispensed  her  care ; 

She  praised  the  boy,  whose  time  was  rightly  spent, 

But  woe  to  him  on  whom  her  frown  was  bent ; 

Who  dared  her  awful  word  to  disobey, 

And  what  .was  meant  for  science  give  to  play. 

Thrice  hapless  he,  who  tumbling  sprawled  the  floor, 

Or  sought  with  truant  step  the  tempting  door, 

Or,  reckless  of  the  pain  and  bitter  tear, 

A  bodkin  thrust  into  his  neighbor's  ear. 

Ah  me !     The  wrinkles  curled  upon  thy  face, 

Thine  eye  flashed  fire,  and  threatnings  came  apace ; 

Wrath  shook  thy  cap  ;  more  frightful  than  thy  nod, 

Thine  arm  uplifted,  waved  the  birchen  rod. 

When  time  had  flown,  and  consecrate  to  play, 
Af rived  at  last  the  joyous  Saturday, 
Forth  from  the  School  with  leap  and  shout  we  went, 
With  youth  inspired,  on  youthful  pleasures  bent ; 
The  favored  space,  which  once  a  week  could  bless 
With  freedom  from  our  learned  Governess. 


DAYS    OP    YOUTH.  17 

No  longer  subjects  of  her  sovereign  law, 

Whose  word  controled,  whose  ferule  struck  with  awe, 

In  various  ways,  for  various  ends  we  part, 

Joy  on  our  lips,  and  transport  in  our  heart ; 

We  heard  no  more  her  tongue,  nor  feared  her  look, 

Nor  o'er  our  heads  the  rod  of  terror  shook. 

Lo !  o'er  the  fields  with  eager  hand  and  eye, 
Some  chase  from  flower  to  flower  the  butterfly  : 
Or,  shouting  with  the  sharers  in  their  play, 
The  rapid  hoop  drive  o'er  the  traveled  way ; 
While  others  near  the  brook  apply  their  skill, 
Watching  the  workings  of  their  mimic  mill, 
Or  teach  the  kite  high  in  the  air  to  fly, 
And  sweep  the  bosom  of  the  boundless  sky. 
Some  sought  the  woods  that  distant  caught  the  view, 
Or  ranged  with  eager  steps  the  vallies  through  ; 
Some  gathered  flowers,  and  the  bright  wreath  prepare 
To  weave  into  their  young  Narcissa's  hair, 
While  others  climbed  with  fearless  feet  the  hill, 
Light  as  the  winds,  and  wanderers  at  will ; 
But  chiefly  loved  our  merry  band  to  rove 
Where  echoes  answered  from  the  Oaken  Grove. 

Dear  to  my  heart  by  strong  unnumbered  ties, 
By  fond  delights  and  best  remembrances, 
Those  ancient  Oaks,  with  leaf  and  acorn  crowned, 
That  o'er  my  father's  rugged  acres  frowned  ; 
See,  how  aloft,  in  kingly  pride  they  bear 
Their  massy  trunks  and  twisted  arms  in  air, 
Still  changeless  in  their  strength  and  giant  form, 
By  suns  unwithered,  moveless  in  the  storm. 


18  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

Beneath  those  arms,  that  venerable  shade 
Often  my  lingering  footsteps  have  delayed, 
When  early  Spring,  in  budding  beauty  gay, 
Awoke  my  heart,  and  smiled  its  cares  away. 
In  Summer,  too,  that  poured  its  sultry  blaze, 
When  flocks  and  herds  sunk  panting  in  its  rays, 
I  breathed  the  freshness  of  the  cooling  air, 
That  nestled  in  the  leaves  and  lingered  there. 
But  chiefly,  when  the  sober  Autumn  came, 
With  languid  suns,  that  gave  their  feeble  flame, 
And  sighing  winds,  with  rude  invasion,  shook 
The  clustering  acorns  from  their  leafy  nook, 
I  hastened  forth,  and  with  delighted  toil, 
Collected  at  their  feet  the  fallen  spoil. 

Nor  was  this  all.     Still  other  ties  invite, 

Where  o'er  our  heads  their  knotted  arms  unite. 

'Twas  there,  in  early  spring,  the  birds  with  care 

Their  nests  composed  of  gathered  sticks  and  hair ; 

'T  was  there  I  watched  them  fly  from  spray  to  spray, 

Or  capture  in  the  air  their  insect  prey ; 

'T  was  there,  from  branch  to  branch,  their  tuneful  throat 

Poured  forth  the  music  of  its  sylvan  note, 

And  seated  on  some  rock,  I  bent  mine  ear, 

The  tribute  of  their  warbled  song  to  hear. 

Pleased  with  their  chirp,  bright  eye,  and  speckled  breast, 

One  day  I  took  two  robins  from  their  nest, 

And  placed  them  in  a  cage.     Upon  a  tree 

I  hung  the  cage,  and  they  sung  mournfully, 

And  hopped  from  side  to  side,  as  if  they  still 

Were  thinking  of  their  native  wood  and  hill ; 


DAYS    OF    YOUTH.  19 

When,  lo,  the  mother  to  their  prison  flew, 

And  fed  her  young,  as  she  was  used  to  do, — 

Placing  a  worm  within  their  beaks,  and  then 

She  lit  upon  a  branch,  and  poured  her  strain, 

As  if  to  sooth  their  sorrows.     Thus  she  came, 

And  daily  fed  them,  daily  sung  the  same. 

A  thought  at  last  rose  in  my  childish  heart : 

It  seemed  to  charge  me  with  a  cruel  part ; 

If  I  were  in  a  prison,  what  would  be 

My  mother's  thoughts,  my  mother's  griefs  for  me  ! 

She,  too,  would  come,  would  feed  me,  and  would  sing, 

And  try  all  arts,  some  joy,  some  hope  to  bring 

To  her  poor  boy.     And  oh,  if  I  were  free, 

How  would  she  triumph  in  my  liberty  ! 

I  wept,  and  not  a  reason  needed  more, 

But  went  at  once,  and  oped  the  wiry  door ; 

The  little  birds  hopped  from  the  open  cage, 

And  soaring  on  their  airy  pilgrimage, 

Poured  forth  their  song  to  rocks  and  trees  around, 

Till  rocks  and  trees  their  warbled  joys  resound. 

In  those  young  days,  when  Summer  in  its  gleam 
Beckoned  us  forth  to  hill,  and  wood,  and  stream; 
When,  swinging  on  its  branch,  the  little  bird 
Plumed  its  blue  wing,  and  made  its  carol  heard, 
Down  in  the  valley  by  the  river's  side, 
We  built  the  Bower,  and  graced  its  arch  of  pride. 
Fair  hands  were  busy,  bloom  and  branch  to  bring, 
And  all  were  present  with  their  offering. 
Some  lent  their  skill  high  in  its  top  to  twine 
The  fragrant  fern,  the  rose,  the  large-leafed  vine; 
Some  gathered  leaves  and  flowers,  and  o'er  the  ground, 
And  sidelong  benches,  strewed  their  treasures  round. 


20  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

The  joyous  stream  bestowed  its  hoarse  applause, 
To  cheer  our  ardor  in  the  mutual  cause, 
Urging  its  curling  wave  with  graceful  sweep 
'Mid  elms  and  vines,  that  clothed  the  valley  deep. 
Our  hearts  were  one ;  the  breath  of  worldly  fame 
Had  not  yet  blown  our  passions  to  a  flame ; 
And  envy  was  not  felt.     Each  strove  to  be 
A  source  of  joy,  and  not  of  misery; 
We  saw  no  future  ills,  all  griefs  forgot, 
Blessing  and  blest,  we  would  not  change  our  lot. 
There  faithful  hands  were  clasped,  there  songs  arose, 
Till  sober  evening  bade  our  pastimes  close. 

That  summer  eve  is  passed !     The  summer's  bloom 

No  longer  yields  its  beauty  and  perfume. 

The  joyous  birds  are  gone :  there  nests  are  bare, 

Hanging  in  leafless  branches  in  the  air. 

How  changed  is  all  around  !     The  Autum's  gale 

Breathes  from  the  moaning  wood  its  joyless  wail ; 

The  cattle,  shivering  in  the  fenceless  fields, 

Nibble  the  poor  repast  the  stubble  yields ; 

The  bleating  sheep  complain  ;  the  flocks  of  crows, 

Cawing  aloud,  forbode  impending  snows. 

But  though  the  day  be  cheerless,  none  the  less 

It  comes  to  gladden,  harmonize,  and  bless, 

The  day,  when  huts  and  cottages  shall  hold 

As  much  of  bliss  as  if  they  gleamed  with  gold — 

THANKSGIVING  DAY,  which,  ere  the  year  shall  part, 

Returns  to  sooth  the  farmer's  generous  heart. 

Full  well  I  knew  him.     Often  when  a  boy, 
The  Farmer  hailed  me  with  a  boisterous  joy, 


DAYS    OP    YOUTH.  21 

Asked  how  I  fared,  and  took  me  by  the  hand, 
And  kindly  led  me  o'er  his  well-tilled  land, 
And  showed  his  bleating  sheep  and  lowing  kine, 
Pride  of  the  master's  eyes,  and  joy  of  mine. 

To  him,  good  man,  Thanksgiving  day  ne'er  came, 

Without  a  full  observance  of  its  claim ; 

For  whether  much  or  small  he  had  to  spare, 

He  had  enough  to  give  the  poor  a  share, 

Who  constant  came,  and  never  failed  to  meet 

The  ready  greeting,  and  the  welcome  seat. 

His  decent  home  was  on  a  rising  place, 

Where  nature  showed  her  strength,  but  not  her  grace ; 

And  yet  that  rugged  height  the  pear-tree  crowned, 

And  scattered  beeches  closed  the  mansion  round. 

His  garden  gave  its  treasures ;  not  in  vain 

From  ripened  fields  he  drove  his  autumn  wain ; 

Huge  stands  his  table ;  fruits  and  pies  appear  ; 

The  choicest  products  of  the  teeming  year ; 

Gathered  around  his  loaded  board,  he  sees 

His  sturdy  sons,  his  daughters  "  formed  to  please," 

Who,  while  the  brothers  felled  the  forest's  bloom, 

Controlled,  with  busy  hand,  the  noisy  loom ; 

Susan,  and  Dick,  and  John,  and  dark-eyed  Bess; 

Proud  heaves  his  heart  with  conscious  happiness. 

Happy  are  those,  whose  hand  and  heart  of  fire 
Nature  hath  framed  to  rule  the  tuneful  lyre ; 
Whose  souls  can  feel,  whose  powers  of  verse  can  tell 
The  deep  emotions  in  their  hearts  that  swell. 
Alas  for  me  !     Such  praise  I  cannot  claim, 
No  epic  heights  resound  my  humble  name  : 
2 


22  DAYS    OP    YOUTH. 

I  do  not  ask  the  noisy  world  to  hear, 

I  do  not  seek  the  trained  and  courtly  ear  ; 

The  budding  wreath,  which  they  may  bind,  shall  be 

The  light  for  other  brows,  but  not  for  me. 

But  I  will  sit  upon  my  native  plain, 

And  tune  my  pipe,  and  call  the  rustic  train, 

Their  lowly  toils  repeat,  their  griefs  reveal, 

And  tell  the  joys,  which  such  alone  can  feel ; 

And,  where  Cocheco  gently  winds  along, 

Renew  to  woods  and  rocks  my  rural  song. 

Cocheco's  River  !     Fitter  strains  should  sing, 

Than  my  poor  note,  thy  gentle  murmuring, 

Whispered  through  nodding  birch  and  elm-trees  hoar 

Till  down  opposing  rocks  thy  waters  roar. 

If  Burns  were  here,  he  would  describe  thee  fair, 

As  blooming  Doon  and  bonny  banks  of  Ayr ; 

In  simple  verse  would  tell  the  mingled  charm 

Of  woods  and  stream  and  cultivated  farm, 

Of  birds  rejoicing  in  their  leafy  bowers, 

Of  bees,  "that  hum  around  the  breathing  flowers," 

And  many  a  cottage  on  thy  banks  should  gain 

The  heartfelt  homage  of  his  touching  strain. 

Roll  on,  fair  River !     Yield  your  torrents  still, 
And  turn,  with  vigorous^ weep,  Old  Richard's  mill. 
While  others  sing  the  men  and  deeds  of  fame, 
Be  ours  to  consecrate  Old  Richard's  name. 
For  oft  the  aged  miller  at  his  hearth 
Detained  our  boyish  troop  with  well-timed  mirth ; 
Told  us  strange  tales,  nor  waited  to  be  pressed ; 
Laughing  old  man !  He  loved  the  tale  and  jest. 


DAYS    OF    YOUTH.  23 

Strong  was  his  arm,  and  while  the  mill  went  round, 
He  hooped  his  pails  and  tubs  with  clattering  sound. 
His  long  grey  coat  with  dust  was  thick  beset, 
His  broad-brim  hat  was  hat  and  epaulet. 
Nor  was  he  all  for  jesting.     In  a  trice 
He  sober  grew,  and  gave  us  sage  advice; 
With  shake  of  head  and  keen,  emphatic  eye, 
Descanting  loud  on  truth  and  honesty. 
But  baffled  oft  to  make  his  audience  hear, 
When  wheels  and  tubs  and  hammer  claimed  the  ear, 
He  raised  his  voice,  and  with  its  accents  shrill, 
Defied  the  deaf'ning  clamor  of  his  mill. 

Loved  waters !  Oft  we  spent  the  rapid  hours 

Upon  thy  waves,  and  in  thy  leafy  bowers ; 

And  they  were  hours  of  quietude  and  bliss ; 

No  cloud  of  sorrow  dimmed  our  happiness. 

See  !  On  thy  banks,  where  cautiously  and  slow 

The  thirsty  steer  stoops  to  the  wave  below, 

The  noisy  group  at  idle  length  recline, 

While  others  aim  the  spear  or  wield  the  line. 

See !  In  thy  waves  the  daring  band  divide 

With  skillful  arm  thine  unresisting  tide  ; 

Or  guide  with  slender  sail  their  dancing  boat, 

And  proudly  o'er  thy  gentle  waters  float. 

Bright  was  thy  summer's  sun,  and  sweet  the  breeze, 

That  chased  the  fragrance  from  thy  clustered  trees ; 

Green  waved  thine  elms,  with  massy  arms  and  strong ; 

Loud  from  the  alders  burst  the  black-bird's  song; 

While  thrush  and  red-breast  from  the  meadows  gay, 

In  merry  groups,  proclaimed  their  rival  lay. 

And  e'en,  when  chill  and  frozen  winter  came, 

Around  thy  banks  we  gathered  still  the  same ; 


24  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

The  rapid  sled  directed  down  the  hill, 
Whose  snowy  brow  o'er-topped  the  noisy  mill, 
Or  made  the  polished  ice,  thy  waves  that  bound, 
With  trampling  feet  and  ringing  skates  resound. 

Stream  of  the  mossy  rock  and  sheltering  tree ! 
Unknown  to  fame,  but  not  unknown  to  me. 
Thought,  retrospective,  fondly  lingers  o'er 
The  cliffs,  the  woods,  the  vallies  of  thy  shore. 
Ye  pensive  haunts,  to  recollection  dear  ! 
One  picture  yet ;  I  cannot  leave  you  here ; 
For  e'en  the  dwellers  of  your  vale  and  hill 
Find  mingled,  in  their  cup  of  joy,  its  ill ; 
And  while  they  speak  of  bliss,  their  griefs  at  times 
Are  breathed  in  simple  melancholy  rhymes. 

Upon  thy  rugged  banks  there  lived  alone 

An  aged  woman  to  the  world  unknown. 

She,  hapless  one,  was  sadly  taught  to  know 

How  frail  are  fairest  prospects  here  below ; 

How,  in  the  time  of  bitterness  and  need, 

All  human  help  is  but  a  broken  reed. 

Time  was  when  she  had  friends ;  but  that  was  past, 

And  all  her  griefs  on  higher  aid  were  cast. 

Wretched  her  hovel ;  all  her  art  and  care 

Could  scarce  exclude  the  rain  and  searching  air. 

She  had  a  chair,  a  table,  and  a  bed, 

And  some  poor  things  for  making  tea  and  bread. 

Daily  she  ranged  each  shady  solitude, 

To  gather  withered  leaves  and  sticks  of  wood, 

To  heap  her  lonely  hearth.     When  gleaming  high 

The  stars  were  summoned  to  the  evening  sky, 


DAYS    OF    YOUTH.  25 

Beside  her  frugal  fire,  her  hours  were  given 
To  humble  toil  and  fitting  thoughts  of  heaven. 
Not  seldom  to  that  grandam's  hut  we  drew, 
When  sable  evening  clothed  the  hills  from  view ; 
She  stopped  the  wheel,  that  twined  her  flaxen  thread, 
She  closed  the  Bible,  whence  she  nightly  read, 
And  from  the  fruitful  fount  of  former  years 
Revealed  the  tale  of  sadness  to  our  ears. 

'T  was  long  ago,  she  said ;  in  that  rude  time, 
When  first  our  fathers  came  from  England's  clime ; 
When  households,  in  our  frontier  town,  were  few, 
And  close  and  dark  the  forest  round  them  grew. 
With  busy  hands  the  farmers  cleared  away 
The  tangled  woods,  and  oped  them  to  the  day  ; 
They  had  no  time  in  idleness  to  spare, 
But  built  their  barns,  the  guarded  house  prepare ; 
Old  men  and  young  alike  engaged  in  toil, 
With  spade  and  plough  to  quell  the  rugged  soil ; 
The  maids  obeyed  the  busy  housewife's  call, 
And  Lucy  Wilson  gained  the  prize  from  all. 

The  neighbors  marked  her  ever  cheerful  face, 
The  magic  of  her  voice,  her  movement's  grace  ; 
And  with  a  glow  of  pride  told  o'er  and  o'er 
Her  kindness  to  her  parents  old  and  poor. 
Like  Lucy  Wilson  none,  they  said,  could  spin, 
And  none  like  her  could  keep  their  cottage  clean ; 
None  listened  on  the  holy  Sabbath  day, 
With  heart  so  fervent  with  devotion's  ray ; 
None  had  such  kindly  looks  and  cheerfulness 
In  disappointment,  labor,  and  distress, 
Prompt  to  her  daily  toil  with  morning's  gleam, 
Nor  slack  in  duty  with  day's  latest  beam. 
2* 


26  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

One  morn  she  went  out  with  her  milking  pail, 
And  the  same  song,  that  oft  had  cheered  the  vale  ; 
It  was  a  summer's  morn ;  the  earliest  beam 
Was  scarce  restored  to  tinted  wood  and  stream ; 
And  as  she  passed,  her  brightly  floating  hair 
Waved  to  the  welcome  of  the  joyful  air. 
'T  was  the  last  time ;  for  fiercely  raging  war 
Had  drawn  the  savage  from  his  haunts  afar ; 
Men  of  hard  heart  and  unrelenting  eye, 
Unmoved  by  beauty  and  by  sympathy  ; 
And  with  that  license  cruel  strife  hath  given, 
Their  spears  they  hurled,  and  Lucy  went  to  heaven. 

Such  were  the  words  that  claimed  the  starting  tear  ; 

But  other  listeners  now  that  story  hear. 

Yes,  THERE  ARE  OTHERS  NOW.     In  Fancy's  eye 

I  see  them,  as  I  saw  in  times  gone  by. 

With  eager  gaze,  on  the  long  winter  night, 

They  gather  round  the  hearth's  reviving  light, 

To  hear  the  Grandam.     At  her  wheel  she  sits, 

And  rallies  at  their  call  her  aged  wits. 

And  when  bright  spring  has  visited  the  vale, 

With  bud  and  flowret  nodding  in  the  gale, 

Or  summer  scatters  from  her  matron  hand 

Plenty  with  beauty  o'er  the  smiling  land, 

And  boys  and  girls  these  new  enjoyments  share, 

'T  is  not  the  group  that  came,  when  I  was  there. 

But  I'll  rejoice,  nor  let  my  heart  repine, 

That  youthful  hopes  and  joys  no  more  are  mine, 

And  only  pray,  when  bliss  with  them  is  o'er, 

And  they,  like  me,  shall  taste  those  joys  no  more, 

That  gratitude  may  linger  to  the  last, 

To  consecrate  the  pleasures  that  are  past. 


DAYS    OP    YOUTH.  27 


Days  of  Youth, 

PART    SECOND. 

CONTENTS.  Introduction.  An  excursion  in  the  fields.  Poor  Will 
the  beggar.  The  Pedlar's  annual  visit.  Youthful  military  ex- 
ercises. Reflections.  The  Farmer's  return  at  evening  from  his 
fields.  The  husking  with  its  legends  and  songs.  The  blind 
Musician.  The  evening  visit  of  the  Huntsman.  Melancholy 
reflections.  Character  and  death  of  a  Schoolmate.  Reminis- 
cences  of  a  sister  who  died  in  infancy.  Religious  reflections. 
The  village  Pastor.  The  gift  of  a  Bible  from  my  Mother.  De- 
parture from  Home. 

Alas,  how  ceaseless  is  life's  silent  tide ! 

How  rapidly  its  onward  waters  glide ! 

Not  meads  nor  flowers,  that  crown  its  liquid  way, 

Can  check  its  course,  and  tempt  its  floods  to  stay. 

Fair  blows  the  wind,  and  all  my  sails  are  set, 

The  last  blue  wave  heaves  not  its  bosom  yet ; 

Pleasant  companions  and  bright  waves  I  find, 

But  still  I  cast  the  lingering  look  behind. 

My  busy  spirit  fails  not  to  retrace 

Each  house,  and  haunt,  and  oft  remembered  face ; 

The  rugged  rock,  the  hill,  the  shaded  plain, 

Once  more  I  tread  with  youthful  feet  again, 

And  in  Imagination's  eye  review 

Each  scene  that  cheered  me,  when  my  life  was  new. 

Nor  is  it  strange;  it  thus  hath  always  been, 
And  thus  will  always  be,  while  men  are  men. 
No  change  of  place,  companionship,  or  state, 
The  heart  from  its  first  loves  can  separate ; 


28  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

Unbribed  by  joys,  which  have  a  foreign  birth, 
It  claims,  unchanged,  its  own,  its  natal  earth. 

See,  how  aloft,  with  struggling  step  and  slow, 
The  daring  Switzer  climbs  his  heights  of  snow, 
While  o'er  the  mountain's  brow  the  chilling  storm, 
With  stern  invasion,  smites  his  youthful  form ! 
Go,  take  him  thence,  and  place  within  his  hand 
The  gifts  and  pleasures  of  some  happier  land, 
Bid  o'er  his  head  Italia's  summers  glow, 
Her  breezes  fan,  her  flowers  around  him  blow ; 
You  do  not  pluck  his  memory  from  its  seat, 
You  do  not,  cannot  make  his  soul  forget ; 
His  father's  form  is  present  to  his  mind, 
His  mother's  look,  that  ever  beamed  so  kind  ; 
His  much  loved  sister's  voice  he  seems  to  hear, 
The  Ranz  des  Vaches*  invades  his  startled  ear  ; 
And  often  will  he  think,  and  often  sigh 
For  his  own  mountain  hearth  and  stormy  sky. 

Where,  in  yon  field,  my  father  used  to  keep, 
Pride  of  his  little  farm,  his  flock  of  sheep, 
Where  bright-eyed  birds  in  birch  and  maple  sing, 
From  branch  to  branch  with  gaily  glancing  wing, 
A  joyous  group  of  the  same  heart  and  age, 
We  took  our  predatory  pilgrimage. 
Bright  was  the  sun,  and  balmy  was  the  air, 
And  life,  and  buoyant  health,  and  youth  were  there 
The  squirrel,  in  his  old,  fantastic  tree, 
Chirped  forth  his  welcome  loud  and  merrily  ; 
And  mellow  autumn,  in  his  treasures  dressed, 
Waved  o'er  the  land,  to  tempt  and  make  us  blessed. 

*  One  of  the  simple  and  affecting  airs  lung  in  Switzerland. 


DAYS    OF    YOUTH.  29 

With  one  triumphant  leap  we  passed  the  brook, 
Cast  on  the  barren  beech  a  wishful  look, 
Explored  the  ripened  walnut  bough,  and  then 
Rushed  loud  and  joyous  down  the  hazel  glen, 
And  where  the  apples  reddened  in  the  sun, 
Climbed  to  the  topmost  branch,  and  treasures  won. 

Not  distant  far,  shut  from  the  public  eye, 

Save  when  he  wandered  forth  for  charity, 

The  tenant  of  a  hut,  which  seemed  to  be 

As  shattered,  rent,  and  beggarly  as  he, 

There  lived,  (and  oft  we  called  to  see  him  there, 

Supported  in  his  rude,  capacious  chair,) 

Poor  Will  the  beggar,  miserably  old, 

With  hunger  pinched,  and  shivering  with  the  cold. 

I  name  him  here,  for  he  too  has  a  place 

Among  the  forms,  that  fancy  loves  to  trace ; 

And  I  should  do  my  heart  and  memory  wrong, 

Were  I,  unnamed,  to  pass  him  in  my  song. 

Sometimes,  when  birds  with  music  hailed  the  morn, 

And  round  his  pathway  waved  the  yellow  corn, 

With  vacant  eye,  and  with  uncertain  feet, 

He  groped  his  way  into  the  public  street. 

One  day  I  marked  him  at  the  rich  man's  gate, 

Just  in  the  attitude  his  wants  to  state. 

His  locks  were  gray,  and  cautiously  he  pressed, 

Upon  the  faithful  staff,  his  bending  breast ; 

His  hat  he  reached  abroad  with  trembling  hand, 

And  few  his  meek  petitions  could  withstand. 

The  village  lads,  who  knew  him,  stopped  their  play, 

To  mark  his  rags,  and  hear  what  he  would  say. 


30  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

He  gently  eyes  them,  as  they  flock  around, 
And  for  each  cent  half  bends  him  to  the  ground. 
His  tattered  garments  and  his  feeble  frame 
The  greatness  of  his  age  and  wants  proclaim ; 
And  some,  who  know  no  pity,  pause  to  see 
His  grateful  bows  and  sad  civility. 

Farewell,  poor  Will !     With  one  accord  we  part, 

And  next  are  met  around  the  Pedlar's  cart. 

He,  honest  man,  with  whip  o'er  shoulder  placed, 

His  long,  interminable  journey  traced, 

O'er  mud  and  dry,  o'er  hillock  and  o'er  plain, 

In  mild  and  storm,  in  sunshine  and  in  rain. 

Hark  !     How  his  wagon  thunders !     What  a  sound 

His  pails  and  pans  and  dippers  scatter  round ! 

Thus  doth  he  come,  as  punctual  as  the  year, 

With  knowing  look  and  strangely  various  gear. 

Combs,  ribbons,  knives,  and  pocket-books  he  had, 

To  grace  the  lass,  and  please  the  country  lad, 

With  rattles,  drums,  and  jews-harps  for  the  boys, 

Whate'er  could  please  the  eye,  or  make  a  noise. 

His  little  books  he  carefully  displayed, 

The  Children  of  the  Wood,  to  death  betrayed; 

John  Gilpin  and  his  famous  turnpike  race, 

The  tales  of  Robin  Hood  and  Chevy  Chase. 

To  passers  by,  (no  shame-faced  youth  was  he,) 

He  gave  thft  nod,  and  called  out  merrily. 

Whatever  others  sold,  or  had  in  store, 

He  always  boasted,  he  could  show  us  more ; 

Perched  high  upon  his  rusty  cart,  the  same, 

With  which  from  immemorial  time  he  came, 

With  pie-bald  horse,  the  rusty  cart  that  drew, 

And  like  his  master  all  the  country  knew. 


DAYS    OP    YOUTH.  Ol 

Nor  when  our  pastimes,  pleasures,  feats  we  name, 

Should  we  forget  the  military  flame ; 

Alas !  When  it  should  be  rebuked,  controlled,  repressed, 

Too  early  kindled  in  the  youthful  breast. 

See  through  the  streets  the  young  militia  come ; 

List  to  the  screaming  fife,  the  rattling  drum ; 

See  how  they  move  with  martial  head  erect, 

And  wooden  guns,  their  country  to  protect ! 

Many  a  gallant  boy  with  matchless  soul 

Gave  in  his  name  to  swell  the  muster-roll ; 

Free  waved  our  'kerchief  banner  high  and  proud ; 

Oft  flamed  our  tiny  cannon  pealing  loud ; 

While  hats  and  smoke  in  upward  whirls  aspire ; 

The  overflow  of  freedom's  generous  fire. 

How  blessed  't  would  be,  if  armies  in  array, 
With  sword  arid  battle-axe,  were  children's  play, 
And,  as  they  marched  with  banners  up  and  down, 
Served  but  to  please  themselves,  or  please  the  town, 
And  while  they  thus  amused  the  eye  and  ear, 
Drew  down  no  widow's  cheek  the  burning  tear, 
Raised  in  no  orphan's  breast  the  bitter  sigh 
O'er  distant  friends,  that  fall,  and  bleed,  and  die. 

But  see !     The  leaf  is  yellow  on  the  hill  j 
The  birds  are  few,  the  moaning  winds  are  chill ; 
The  Autumn  suns  diffuse  their  transient  beam 
And  from  the  plains  returns  the  loaded  team. 
There  had  the  farmer  toiled  from  early  morn, 
And  plucked  with  busy  hand  the  full-eared  corn. 
Blest  in  his  fruits,  his  cattle,  and  his  sheaves, 
With  shouldered  hoe  and  axe,  his  field  he  leaves ; 


32  DAYS    OP    YOUTH. 

Well-pleased,  his  boy  is  trudging  at  his  side, 
A  sharer  in  the  father's  joy  and  pride. 
Weary,  but  patient,  he  erects  his  goad, 
And  homeward  urges  fast  the  rustling  load ; 
While  o'er  the  hills  the  setting  sun-beam  glows, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  shadows  and  repose. 

Hope  of  the  land,  ye  farmers,  who  can  bring 
Heaps  from  the  soil  ye  sowed  in  early  spring, 
Your  labors  well  demand  the  poet's  lays, 
Too  oft  on  subjects  spent  less  worthy  praise. 
Around  the  hearth,  that  brightly  beams  the  while, 
Of  newly-gathered  corn  ascends  the  pile  ; 
Around  that  pile,  with  cheerful  voices  loud, 
Gather,  on  Autumn  nights,  the  husking  crowd. 
The  neighbors  come  with  joyous  heart  and  face, 
Their  Rural  Festival  to  cheer  and  grace, 
To  yield  their  sympathy,  their  aid  to  yield 
To  those,  who,  like  themselves,  subdue  the  field ; 
And  while  with  busy  hand  their  task  they  ply, 
And  with  their  labors  cheer  the  master's  eye, 
Who  marks  the  love  that  crowns  the  closing  year, 
In  baskets  brightening  with  the  golden  ear, 
Traditionary  tales  the  hours  employ, 
Old  hearts  are  glad,  and  young  ones  heave  with  joy. 

High  rose  the  song,  thrilled  forth  by  many  a  tongue  : 
'T  was  rude  in  measure,  and  't  was  rudely  sung  : 
It  told  the  daring  deeds  of  Robin  Hood, 
Done  in  the  starless  night  and  pathless  wood, 
Who  trained  his  bloody  band,  his  bow  who  bent, 
Where  Sherwood's  forests  crown  the  sylvan  Trent. 


DAYS    OP    YOUTH. 

And  then  there  came  (it  always  had  a  place,) 
The  spirit-stirring  strain  of  Chevy  Chase  ; 
And  while  we  hear,  before  our  mental  eyes 
Men,  steeds,  and  spears,  and  bloody  fields  arise. 
There  goes  Earl  Douglas,  like  a  Baron  bold, 
With  milk-white  steed,  and  armor  bright  as  gold  ; 
There  doth  earl  Percy  not  less  boldly  ride, 
With  fifteen  hundred  English  at  his  side; 
And  Hugh  Montgomery  throws  his  dreadful  spear ; 
Then  first  we  wondering  heard,  and  wept  to  hear. 
Thus  many  an  ancient  tale  and  many  a  song, 
The  scene  of  bliss  and  hour  of  joy  prolong. 

At  that  united,  friendly,  festal  hour, 
The  Old  Blind  Fiddler  oft  displayed  his  power. 
He  traveled  through  the  country  up  and  down, 
Talk  of  the  cottage,  wonder  of  the  town ; 
Where'er  he  went,  he  never  lingered  long, 
And  always  made  his  welcome  with  his  song. 
His  darkened  eye  saw  not  the  brilliant  day, 
But  in  his  soul  shone  friendship's  genial  ray ; 
He  showed  a  minstrel's  heart,  a  minstrel's  skill, 
And  ruled  both  swains  and  maidens  at  his  will. 

In  fancy  still  I  see  him  proudly  bear 
His  sooty  face,  and  jet-black  curly  hair  ; 
One  foot  he  forward  pressed,  and  'neath  his  chin, 
With  head  drawn  back,  he  placed  his  violin; 
And  as  we  praised  his  skill,  and  closing  round, 
Exclaimed,  impatient  for  the  magic  sound, 
He  poured  at  times  the  brisk  and  lively  strain, 
And  then  it  slow  and  serious  grew  again. 
3 


34  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

At  times  he  hit  the  stern  and  martial  air, 

And  then  struck  something  that  would  please  the  fair ; 

And  as  with  practised  hand  he  drew  the  bow, 

And  strains  divine  around  the  circle  flow, 

He  rolled  his  sightless  eye  from  place  to  place, 

And  bowed  and  smiled  with  self-complacent  grace. 

That  strain  is  o'er  ;  but  joy  waits  not  to  borrow 

The  ray,  that  gilds  it,  from  the  beaming  morrow ; 

'T  is  dark  without ;  the  hearth  still  shining  bright, 

Relumes  our  walls,  and  fills  our  hearts  with  light ; 

Around  its  cheerful  blaze  we  linger  near, 

And  to  some  native  legend  lend  the  ear. 

The  huntsman  from  'Seogee's*  mimic  sea, 

Or  recent  from  the  mount-crowned  Ossipee, 

Or  farther  still,  where  the  White  Mountains  swell 

Vast  and  majestic,  had  his  tale  to  tell. 

Full  wondrous  was  the  theme,  and  strange  to  hear, 

Of  game  entrapped,  or  slain  with  gun  and  spear, 

Of  hair-breath  'scapes  upon  the  stormy  lake, 

Of  Indian,  starting  from  the  secret  brake, 

Of  whirlwinds  bearing  desolation  wide, 

Of  trees  self-moved,  hurled  down  the  mountain  side, 

Of  toils  by  day,  of  short  and  dangerous  sleep, 

Scared  by  the  wolves,  their  vigils  near  that  keep. 

Such  were  the  scenes,  that  gave  my  early  days 
Their  nameless  charm,  which  round  them  still  delays ; 
Such  were  the  hours,  in  recollection  blest, 
That  poured  their  pleasures  o'er  my  youthful  breast ; 

*  An   abridged  expression  for  Winnepisiogee,  a  beautiful  lake  in  New  Hamp- 
shire.   Osiipee,  ii  the  name  of  another  lake  in  the  same  region. 


DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

Blest  in  themselves,  but  rendered  doubly  dear, 
For  those  who  loved  me,  those  I  loved,  were  near  ; 
Who,  with  their  hearts  in  looks  and  actions  shown, 
Made  all  my  griefs,  and  all  my  joys  their  own. 

Friends  of  my  Youth  !  I  often  think  of  you. 
Sad  was  the  hour,  which  saw  the  long  adieu. 
Companions  dear  !     Ye  yet  shall  have  a  part, 
A  place  of  refuge,  in  my  inmost  heart, 
Till  once  again,  with  happiness  complete, 
Brought  face  to  face,  and  soul  to  soul,  we  meet. 
But  this,  alas,  with  some  shall  never  be, 
Who  loved,  with  open  arms,  to  welcome  me. 
Relentless  Death,  that  spares  nor  friend  nor  foe, 
Hath  touched  them  in  their  bloom,  and  laid  them  low. 
Yes !  they  are  gone ;  but  dead  to  outward  sight, 
They  live,  unchanged,  in  Memory's  fadeless  light. 

Mark  how  the  churchyard  yews  and  elms  enclose 
Their  narrow  beds,  and  guard  their  deep  repose. 
Green  is  their  turf,  and  scattered  flowers  have  grown 
Above  the  moveless  heart,  the  mouldering  bone ; 
And  those,  who  loved  them,  when  the  setting  day 
Tinges  the  mountain  with  its  farewell  ray, 
Around  their  dust  with  pious  tears  renew 
The  rites  and  honors,  to  their  virtues  due. 

Yonder  there  sleeps  a  youth,  whose  promise  fair 
Shone  in  his  eye,  his  manners,  and  his  air ; 
A  child  of  genius !     Mighty  nature  taught 
Both  power  and  feeling  to  his  early  thought. 
I  knew  him  well.     The  same  with  me  in  age, 
Together  we  explored  old  Maro's  page ; 


36  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

But  there  was  that  in  his  prophetic  eye, 

With  which  no  vulgar  mind  had  sympathy. 

He  sought,  when  oped  the  morning's  purple  dawn, 

The  breezy  hill  and  solitary  lawn. 

But  loved  at  eve  the  stream,  or  forest's  gloom, 

Or  pensive  paused  beside  the  sculptured  tomb ; 

Well  known  to  talking  age,  and  many  a  time 

He  sat  and  heard  their  legendary  rhyme, 

For  other  times,  and  deeds  with  ages  dim, 

Forgot  by  most,  had  secret  charms  for  him. 

But  he  is  gone ;  and  I  am  left  alone, 

Gone,  like  the  flower,  in  early  summer  mown  ; 

That  poet's  eye  is  dim ;  the  sod  is  pressed 

Coldly  and  sad  upon  his  crumbling  breast ; 

But  long  his  image  in  the  souls  shall  dwell 

Of  those,  who  knew  him,  those  who  loved  him  well. 

Ah,  there  are  thoughts  more  sad.     Above  thy  grave, 
Long  lost  Elizabeth,  the  willows  wave  ; 
Thou  wast  my  sister,  but  didst  never  frame 
A  brother's  sacred  and  endearing  name  ; 
Too  young  to  know,  or  utter  aught  of  me, 
But  none  the  less  my  love  encircled  thee. 
Few  were  thy  days,  and  those  of  deep  distress, 
But  e'en  thy  griefs  were  bright  with  loveliness. 
Returned  from  school,  with  heart  averse  from  play, 
I  hastened  where  thy  suffering  body  lay  ; 
Beside  thy  humble  cradle  took  my  stand, 
Thy  forehead  kissed  and  held  thy  little  hand. 
Oft  didst  thou  feebly  smile ;  and  then  again 
Thy  countenance  confessed  the  bitter  pain. 
Deep  to  our  hearts  went  each  imploring  gaze, 
Which  oft  we  saw  thee  to  thy  parents  raise ; 


DAYS    OF    YOUTH.  37 

But  all  in  vain ;  we  wept ;  we  saw  thy  tears ; 
Death  heeded  not  our  watchings,  griefs,  and  fears, 
But  sternly  quelled,  regardless  of  thy  cry, 
Thy  struggling  heart,  and  quenched  thy  lovely  eye. 

Sister  much  loved !  Although  thy  days  were  few, 
And  He,  who  gave  thee,  soon  that  gift  withdrew, 
Unchanged,  thine  infant  beauty  is  impressed 
Deeply  within  the  chambers  of  my  breast ; 
And  oft,  where  willows  guard  thine  early  sleep, 
I  linger  near,  and  o'er  thine  ashes  weep ; 
Recall  what  thou  wast  once,  what  would  be  now, 
If  ripened  womanhood  had  graced  thy  brow, 
And  fondly  think,  when  I  too  take  my  flight, 
Once  more  to  meet  thee  in  the  realms  of  light. 

And  it  is  ever  thus.     Frail  man  shall  die  ; 
Strength  quit  his  limbs,  and  light  desert  his  eye ; 
But  there's  a  shore,  when  life's  poor  hour  is  past, 
Which  welcomes  home  the  wanderer  at  last. 
'Deserted  and  forlorn,  a  friendly  hand 
Shall  guide  the  Christian  to  that  better  land ; 
No  longer  doomed  in  earth's  dim  realms  to  stray, 
Where  storms  affright,  and  shadows  clothe  the  way. 
See !  How  he  mounts  aloft,  his  perils  o'er, 
Where  sin  and  sorrow  shall  be  known  no  more ; 
Where,  in  the  glories  of  that  brighter  sphere, 
The  sigh  is  hushed,  and  banished  every  tear. 

Thus  taught  the  village  Pastor,  on  whose  tongue, 
Deeply  attent,  my  youth  and  childhood  hung, 
As  venerable  man,  he  loved  to  trace, 
In  contrast  to  our  woes,  a  Saviour's  grace. 
3* 


38  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

I  recollect  him  well.     In  yonder  wood, 

Shut  from  the  world,  his  humble  mansion  stood  ; 

Scarce  to  the  passing  stranger's  eye  betrayed, 

Amid  the  mountain  ash  and  sumac's  shade. 

He  loved  his  sacred  work ;  but  well  he  knew, 

'T  was  no  small  task,  his  Saviour  bade  him  do; 

A  task,  which  claimed  whate'er  he  had  of  power, 

The  daily  discipline,  the  midnight  hour. 

In  solitude,  remote  from  public  care, 

He  strove  by  faith,  by  penitence,  arid  prayer, 

To  purify  the  troubled  heart  within, 

And  thus  reproved  more  bold  the  people's  sin ; 

'Till  from  his  lips  his  warnings  and  advice 

Came  with  the  power  of  mandates  from  the  skies. 

But  deem  him  not  unkind  ;  he  shared  the  love 
Of  those  whom  duty  called  him  to  reprove  ; 
For  when  stern  justice  spoke  in  tones  severe, 
He  yet  "to  Pity  gave  the  willing  tear. 
The  poor  ne'er  failed  to  find  in  him  a  friend, 
Ready  his  counsel,  care,  and  aid  to  lend. 
The  great  and  rich  revered  him,  for  they  saw 
His  heart  was  fixed  in  heaven,  and  heaven  his  law: 
And  when  at  times  he  walked  the  public  street, 
The  children  came  the  holy  man  to  greet, 
And  from  his  lips,  still  to  their  office  true, 
A  father's  prayer,  a  father's  blessing  drew. 

When  on  the  bed  of  death  his  flock  were  laid, 
And  turned  to  human  art  in  vain  for  aid, 
When  friends,  who  shed  the  agonizing  tear, 
Around  that  bed  of  death  were  gathered  near, 


DAYS    OF    YOUTH.  39 

We  saw  him  oft  to  that  dread  scene  repair, 
And  lift  to  heaven  the  humbly  fervent  prayer. 
In  life  and  death  one  object  he  pursued, 
To  check  the  vicious,  and  build  up  the  good, 
To  pour  the  light  upon  the  darkened  mind, 
To  guide  the  wretch  to  vicious  paths  inclined, 
And  mid  the  maze  of  life  to  point  the  way, 
That  upward  leads  to  heaven's  unclouded  day. 

Youth  lasts  not  always ;  suns  and  stars  roll  on ; 
And  scarce  its  bliss  is  tasted,  ere  't  is  gone. 
I  older  grew,  and  then  it  was  my  care 
For  riper  life  and  duty  to  prepare; 
And  moving  on  a  more  extended  plan, 
To  lay  aside  the  boy,  and  act  the  man. 
Still  rises  to  my  thought  that  saddened  day, 
Which  broke  my  dreams,  and  called  me  far  away, 
To  leave  (I  left  them  not  without  a  tear,) 
All  I  had  honored,  loved,  and  held  most  dear. 
As  I  went  forth  and  viewed  the  glorious  sun, 
And  looked,  where  wild  Cocheco's  waters  run, 
And  gazed  upon  each  loved  and  chosen  scene, 
The  ancient  wood,  the  ornamented  green, 
And  heard  once  more  the  birds  and  bounding  rill, 
And  saw  the  lambs,  that  gamboled  on  the  hill, 
What  days  and  years  into  that  moment  came, 
Gleamed  at  the  melting  eye,  and  shook  the  frame. 
Thoughts,  troubled  and  o'ercharged,  my  bosom  swell; 
I  sadly  turned,  and  sighed  a  long  farewell. 

Sadly  and  slow,  I  sought  the  Cottage  door, 
Ere  I  depart,  to  taste  its  bliss  once  more  ; 


40  DAYS    OF    YOUTH. 

But  vainly  strove,  dear  as  it  was,  to  find 
A  solace  for  my  grieved,  desponding  mind. 
There  stood  around,  (it  shames  me  not  to  tell,) 
Brothers  and  sisters,  whom  I  loved  full  well ; 
Who,  as  they  saw,  not  soon  to  see  again, 
Showed  in  their  sorrowed  looks,  the  inward  pain. 
Nor  they  alone :  yet  other  friends  were  near, 
To  give  the  warm  embrace,  the  frequent  tear, 
And  sadly  to  lament,  too  dear  to  last, 
The  joys,  that  blessed  them,  now  forever  past. 

But  ere,  a  pilgrim  to  another  land, 

I  bade  Adieu,  and  gave  the  parting  hand, 

My  watchful  Mother  called  me  from  the  rest, 

With  heart  unchanged,  her  warmest  love  expressed ; 

Nor  let  me  go,  till  from  its  place  she  drew 

A  Bible,  kept  for  this  last  interview. 

Take,  my  dear  child,  she  said,  this  Sacred  Book, 

And  often  in  its  page  of  wisdom  look. 

Make  this  your  counsellor,  and  though  you  be 

Far  from  your  home,  and  far,  too  far,  from  me, 

I  will  not  fear.     Let  this  your  ways  control, 

And  to  its  teachings  lend  your  inmost  soul ; 

Then  shall  your  Mother's  gladdened  heart  be  blest, 

Her  griefs  subdued,  her  anxious  thoughts  at  rest. 

My  Mother  !  I  began  with  thee  my  strain  ; 
To  thee  I  turn  my  changeless  heart  again. 
Though  not  in  all  the  same,  as  thou  wast  then, 
When  forth  I  tried  the  troubled  haunts  of  men, 
For  age,  that  comes  to  all,  hath  come  to  thee, 
With  kindling  eye  less  bright,  and  step  less  free, 


DAYS    OF    YOUTH.  41 

Thou  didst  not  ever,  and  thou  couldst  not  prove 
One  throb  diminished  from  a  mother's  love. 
And  thou  hast  had  thy  sorrows.     He  is  gone, 
And  left  thee  in  thy  widowhood  alone, 
Who  bore  with  thee  the  burden  of  the  day, 
Who  watched  with  thee  thy  children's  infant  play, 
Who,  loved  and  honored,  though  unknown  to  fame, 
Sustained  the  Husband's  and  the  Father's  name. 
I  too  will  weep,  for  I  have  deeply  known 
The  love,  that  in  his  life  and  aspect  shone. 
Blest,  sacred  form,  that,  ever  placed  by  thine, 
Survives  and  brightens  in  the  spirit's  shrine ! 
But  let  me  not  forget,  the  shaft  for  me, 
Not  meant  for  one  alone,  had  wounds  for  thee  ; 
And  that  my  watchful  thoughts  and  cares  are  due 
To  her,  who  far  the  deeper  sorrow  knew. 
Yes,  let  me  come,  and  in  thy  weary  age, 
Attempt  that  hidden  anguish  to  assuage, 
And  grateful,  with  a  pious  hand  to  bring 
(Such  as  I  may,)  my  filial  offering. 

The  Bible !  from  thine  own  loved  hand  I  took, 
Wet  with  a  Mother's  tears,  the  sacred  Book. 
'T  was  the  last  gift,  when  from  thy  sight  I  drew, 
To  venture  forth  on  doubtful  scenes  and  new. 
And  thou  was  kind  :  that  Book  hath  done  me  good, 
Many  an  inward  evil  hath  subdued, 
Taught  me  the  nature  of  the  world  to  see, 
The  frailness  of  its  hopes,  its  vanity, 
And  from  the  scenes  around  me  turned  mine  eye 
To  other  scenes  and  mansions  in  the  sky. 
There  may  I  meet  with  thee ;  be  that  our  home, 
No  more  to  sorrow,  never  more  to  roam; 


42  VANITY    OF    HUMAN    PURSUITS. 

There  are  the  bowers,  whose  bloom  shall  ne'er  decay, 
While  all  inferior  glories  fade  away  ; 
There  shall  the  wanderers  meet,  the  weary  there, 
In  songs  of  everlasting  triumph  share. 


Vanity   of  Human   Pursuits. 
I. 

ON  yonder  sunny  hills,  when  summer's  prime 
With  leaf  and  flower  the  blooming  earth  hath  strowed, 
The  bees  return  from  beds  of  rose  and  thyme, 
Solicitous  to  house  the  fragrant  load. 
See,  how  the  labor  rages  far  and  wide, 
And  hurried  murmers  fill  the  peopled  air ! 
So  busy  men  rush  forth  from  side  to  side ; 
For  weary  foot  and  hand  they  take  no  care ; 
But  dig,  and  build,  and  reap,  all  rushing  here  and  there. 

II. 

'T  is  work  and  bustle,  strife  and  turmoil  rude ; 
The  object  various,  wealth,  enjoyment,  power ; 
No  matter  what,  't  is  ever  well  pursued ; 
They  tug,  they  strive,  they  sweat  their  little  hour. 
As  when  Wyandot  Indians,  one  and  all, 
Far  in  the  woody  depths  of  Michigan, 
Are  gathered  to  their  favorite  game  of  ball, 
'T  is  running,  pushing,  shrieking,  "  catch  who  can," 
And  he,  who  scrambles  best,  is  every  inch  a  man. 


VANITY    OF    HUMAN    PURSUITS.  43 

III. 

Some  lift  the  sail,  and  launching  from  the  shore, 
To  distant  lands  their  venturous  arts  proclaim. 
Some  dig  the  earth,  and  clutch  the  shining  ore, 
And  with  their  golden  ingots  build  a  name. 
Some  lend  an  ear  to  loud  Ambition's  cry. 
Various  the  means,  but  self  the  mighty  end. 
Whate'er  the  many  methods,  which  they  try, 
To  this  they  all,  with  faithful  instinct  bend. 
"  This  is  the  Ball  they  kick ;"  for  this  one  prize  contend. 

IV. 

I  would  not  say,  that  all  alike  are  found 
Restricted  to  this  low  and  selfish  aim ; 
That  none  have  power  to  take  the  upward  bound, 
And  kindred  with  a  higher  purpose  claim. 
There  are  some  chosen  ones ;  but  few,  alas ! 
The  multitude  rush  on  the  general  way. 
Lift  up  thine  eye,  and  see  them  as  they  pass ; 
All  have  their  mark,  and  easy  't  is  to  say, 
Where,  in  the  mighty  rout,  each  shall  his  name  display. 

V. 

First  come,  with  hurried  gait,  the  motley  tribe, 
Sallow  and  lean,  the  men  of  fees  and  rent, 
Who  add  to  what  they  earn,  the  secret  bribe, 
And  call  it  but  another  "  cent  per  cent." 
With  pen  suspended  on  the  knowing  ear, 
And  spectacles  astride,  they  con  their  book ; 
But  when  the  sudden  fall  of  stocks  they  hear, 
What  heaven  of  joy  doth  fill  their  altered  look; 
They  dart  like  hungry  pikes,  and  catch  the  baited  hook. 


44  VANITY    OF    HUMAN   PURSUITS. 

VI. 

Thus  is  the  shearer  shorn,  the  catcher  caught  ; 
With  features  long  and  grim  they  hurry  back  ; 
But  still,  alike  by  loss  and  gain  untaught, 
Once  more  their  plodding  CEREBRUM  they  rack, 
Their  ledger  and  their  day-book  fingering  still ; 
And  bone  and  muscle,  heart  and  conscience  wear. 
And  what  good  end  or  purpose  to  fulfill  ? 
'Tis  answered  in  a  word.     This  life  of  care 
Shall  gratify  the  lusts  of  some  mean,  spendthrift  heir. 

VII. 

And  there  are  those  of  "  Epicurus'  stye," 
A  mighty  brood,  poor  children  of  the  dust. 
Oh,  who  will  show  us  any  good,  they  cry, 
Not  mental  good,  but  which  subserves  to  lust  ? 
They  press  the  ruddy  goblet  to  the  lip ; 
"  Wine  merry  makes  the  heart,"  at  once  they  sing  ; 
And  then  they  laughing  take  the  other  sip  ; 
When,  lo,  the  arches  high  "  uproarious  "  ring, 
And  he,  who's  clothed  in  rags,  is  every  inch  a  king. 

VIII. 

Pleasure  they  call  their  God,  and  sure  it  is  ; 
But  fire-eyed  adders  lurk  within  their  bowl. 
See  how  the  spotted  monsters  turn  and  hiss  ; 
Then  fierce  and  sudden  sting  the  wretch's  soul. 
And  who  will  help  them  now  ?    They  shriek,  they  run 
But  find,  alas,  too  mighty  is  their  chain ; 
Before  another  day's  declining  sun, 
They  seek  the  haunts  of  revelry  again. 
They  drink  the  pleasure  first,  then  howling  rue  the  pain. 


VANITY    OF    HUMAN    PURSUITS.  45 

IX, 

Go  where  they  dwell,  when  revelry  is  o'er, 
And  mark  what  other  sorrows  crown  their  sin ; 
Slow  on  its  rusty  hinges  creaks  the  door, 
And  all  is  dirt  and  raggedness  within. 
A  single  brand  is  smouldering  on  the  hearth  ; 
The  wretched  mother  sits  in  silence  there ; 
Her  children  show  no  bliss,  no  wonted  mirth ; 
Their  mouths  are  hungry,  and  their  limbs  are  bare ; 
The  stupid  father  nods,  drunk  in  his  broken  chair. 

X. 

"  Fair  laughs  the  morn,"  and  pleasant  is  the  breeze, 
And  yonder  rolls  the  "  Bay  of  Biscay,  O  !" 
Thus  sings  the  sailor,  as  he  treads  the  seas, 
And  mountain  high  his  gallant  bark  doth  go. 
'T  is  his  upon  the  ocean's  path  to  roam ; 
Through  flood  and  storm,  with  jolly  heart  he  steers, 
And  little  cares  he  for  his  father's  home, 
And  little  thinks  he  of  his  mother's  tears, 
Who  held  him  on  her  knees,  and  kissed  his  childish  years. 

XL 

"  The  world  is  all  before  him,"  where  to  seek 
From  every  land  its  congregated  spoil. 
Now  waves  his  flag  o'er  distant  Mozambique, 
Now  floats  triumphant  at  the  seven-mouthed  Nile, 
Where  Caesar  sat  at  Cleopatra's  side. 
Anon  behold  him  in  his  ceasless  flight, 
Bounding  along  with  favoring  wind  and  tide, 
Where  Syrian  shepherds  watch  the  starry  night, 
Or  "  where  Chineses  drive  their  cany  wagons  light." 
4 


46  VANITY    OF    HUMAN    PURSUITS. 

XII. 

Vain  man  !     He  thinks  not  of  the  Higher  Power, 
Whose  hand  controls  the  mighty  ocean's  roar. 
Alas  !  He  comes  in  no  propitious  hour, 
And  smites  thee  in  thy  glory,  ship  and  store. 
Yes,  ere  to-morrow's  blazing  sun  shall  set, 
The  ocean,  that  should  bear  thee  as  a  friend, 
No  longer  laughing  like  a  rivulet, 
Shall  plank  and  mast  and  sail  and  cable  rend, 
And  thou,  a  drowning  fly,  thy  little  life  shalt  end. 

XIII. 

Next  comes  the  Soldier,  mark'd  with  scratch  and  scar, 
Preceded  loud  with  clanging  trump  and  drums ; 
The  mob  recoil  before  this  God  of  War, 
And  throw  their  caps  :  "the  conquering  hero  comes." 
Slow  move  his  coursers  ;  he,  with  laurelled  head, 
Bends  low,  and  utters  meek  some  grateful  word, 
And  then,  as  if  to  rouse  the  sleeping  dead, 
The  multitude,  to  slavish  homage  stirred, 
Make  yet  again  their  throat  with  horrid  uproar  heard. 

XIV. 

And  why  is  all  this  humble  homage  given  ? 
The  suppliant  knee,  the  tributary  eye  ? 
Why  ring  the  arches  of  the  troubled  heaven, 
When  thus  a  fellow  mortal  passes  by  ? 
Alas,  what  folly  marks  this  idle  state, 
And  most  of  all,  in  those  who  plaudits  give. 
'T  is  true  the  silly  world  have  called  him  great, 
And  deem  his  glorious  name  shall  ever  live. 
But  what  reward  shall  he  from  Virtue's  hand  receive ! 


VANITY    OF    HUMAN    PURSUITS.  47 

XV. 

Oh,  think  of  those,  who  far  in  humble  life, 
In  shaded  vales  and  silent  woods  remote, 
Reap  not  the  laurels  of  the  sanguine  strife, 
Hail  not  the  plaudits  of  the  trumpet's  note ; 
But  weep  their  brothers  lost,  their  husbands  slain, 
To  sad  and  unavailing  grief  a  prey. 
They  call  the  loved  one's  name,  but  all  in  vain ; 
They  cannot,  cannot  wake  the  lifeless  clay ; 
Then  flow  their  tears  once  more ;  their  thoughts  are  far 
away. 

XVI. 

The  scene  expands  before  affection's  eyes ; 
Low  on  the  earth  their  soldier  bows  his  head  ; 
No  sister's  love  receives  his  dying  cries, 
No  mother's  care  protects  his  dying  bed. 
No  more  for  him  his  mountain  birds  shall  sing ; 
No  more  for  him  the  vales  resound  with  joy. 
He  dies.     His  life  is  broken  at  its  spring. 
Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  poor,  bleeding  boy  ! 
"  The  conquering  hero  comes !"  He  comes  but  to  destroy. 

XVII. 

Now  mark  the  Politician,  grave  and  shrewd, 
Who  hath  his  cautious,  well-conn'd  scroll  by  rote. 
When  storms  against  the  ship  of  state  intrude, 
He  lifts  aloud  his  patriotic  throat. 
He  hath  no  private  aims,  forgets  himself, 
For  others  toils,  and  dares  the  dubious  fight, 
Till  in  some  luckless  hour  the  shining  pelf 
Pours  on  his  patriot  eye  another  light, 
Then,  like  the  owl  at  noon,  he  huddles  out  of  sight. 


48  VANITY    OF    HUMAN    PURSUITS. 

XVIII. 

Not  so  with  others.     Onward  still  they  strive, 
Progressing  o'er  the  high,  official  stairs, 
Till  at  the  highest  round  they,  pleased,  arrive  ; 
Anon,  some  other  cometh  unawares, 
And  jerks  them  down,  with  horrid  uproar  vast ; 
Chaos  itself  is  moved,  as  far  and  wide 
The  headlong  multitude  are  sprawling  cast, 
And  kick,  and  foam,  and  roll  from  side  to  side, 
Till,  lo,  in  yonder  ditch,  they  plunging  deep,  abide. 

XIX. 

Not  all  are  such.     There  are  some  nobler  names 
Inscribed  upon  the  great  Historic  page, 
Which  blazons  forth  to  all  mankind  their  claims 
To  honor  and  renown,  from  age  to  age. 
Not  men,  (alas,  too  many  such  are  known,) 
Who,  thumping  on  the  rostral  board,  elate, 
Proclaim  their  country's  good,  "  but  mean  their  own;' 
And  while  they  seem  to  save  the  sinking  State, 
With  self-regarding  eye,  on  their  own  fortunes  wait. 

XX. 

Yes,  there  are  some,  who,  shunning  party  strife, 
That  shakes  too  oft  the  mighty  Common-weal, 
Have  nobly  pledged  their  honor  and  their  life, 
The  public  griefs,  the  nation's  wounds  to  heal. 
When  clouds  came  lowering  o'er  their  native  soil, 
And  blackness  veiled  her  glory's  rising  sun, 
They  ready  stood  to  suffer  and  to  toil, 
And  thus  the  amaranthine  laurel  won  ; 
Such  were  the  virtuous  Jay,  the  patriot  Madison. 


VANITY    OF    HUMAN    PURSUITS.  49 

XXI. 

Down  in  his  six  feet  dungeon,  under  ground, 
Or  raised,  perchance,  to  attic  story  high, 
He,  with  his  shrunk  and  dusty  form,  is  found, 
Whose  task  it  is,  in  musty  books  to  pry, 
The  Scholar,  seeking  learning's  treasured  spoil. 
Strange  is  the  weary  life,  which  he  hath  led ; 
He  hath  a  midnight  lamp,  and  little  oil ; 
He  hath  a  staff,  a  mug,  an  ancient  bed, 
And  many  spiders  weave  their  curtains  o'er  his  head. 

XXII. 

Upon  his  shelf  the  great  Manetho  stands, 
And  eke  Sanchoniathon,  "  cheek  by  jowl," 
And  when  he  turns  them  with  his  trembling  hands, 
Demure  he  looks,  and  wise,  as  any  owl. 
Stuffed,  on  the  walls,  a  lizard  doth  preside, 
And,  pendant  from  a  nail,  a  brick,  that  came 
From  Babylon  and  great  Euphrates'  tide. 
With  such  as  this,  perchance  the  very  same, 
Was  Babel's  tower  raised  up,  to  make  to  men  a  name. 

XXIII. 

And  thus  he  delves,  and  at  his  finger's  ends, 
All  time,  all  knowledge,  and  all  arts  are  sure  ; 
But  never  once  an  outward  look  he  bends 
On  that  great  Book,  where  knowledge  shall  endurej 
Nature's  material  aspect,  pure  and  bright,         *• 
And  what  is  more,  the  priceless  heart  of  man. 
To  that  blest  page,  his  soul  is  dark  as  night ; 
He  knoweth  not  the  Great  Creator's  plan  ; 
But  ragged  parchments  pores,  and  it  is  all  he  can. 
4* 


50  VANITY    OF    HUMAN    PURSUITS. 

XXIV. 

The  poet,  too,  doth  ply  his  thankless  trade, 
And  drain,  with  leaky  pen,  his  addled  brain. 
Poor  man  !     Upon  the  couch  of  phrenzy  laid, 
What  dreams  and  airy  sights  !  what  joys,  what  pain! 
Then  rising  quick,  he  snatches  fierce  his  quill, 
To  pour  once  more  his  fancy's  products  forth, 
Scribbling  in  haste,  till  he  his  page  doth  fill 
With  forms  and  extacies  of  sudden  birth, 
Then  conning  o'er,  he  stares,  to  find  it  little  worth. 

XXV. 

But  try  again.     The  Delphic  height  once  more, 
With  strugglings  hard  and  frantic  steps,  ascend; 
Beneath  his  feet  the  dashing  torrents  roar, 
Above,  the  rainbows  and  the  lightnings  blend. 
Extatic  he !     And  strives  to  image  fair, 
In  fitting  words,  what  Nature  shows  sublime ; 
But  all  in  vain ;  it  vanishes  in  air. 
He  topples  headlong ;  and  the  stream  of  time 
Doth  drown  him  in  its  gulphs,  his  honor  and  his  rhyme. 

XXVI. 

But  there  are  some,  who  gain  the  topmost  height, 
Where  Glory  hath  its  never  dying  ray, 
And,  like  the  mystic  angel,  clothed  in  light,* 
Reveal  their  robes  of  everlasting  day. 
Sons  ^f  the  genuine  lyre  !  whose  magic  song, 
Coined  from  the  heart,  and  to  the  heart  consigned, 
Borne  forth  on  "  winged  words,"  a  chosen  throng, 
Reveals  the  deep,  the  universal  mind ; 
And  such  pass  not  away,  the  honor  of  their  kind. 

*  Revelation*,  19,  17. 


VANITY    OF    HUMAN    PURSUITS.  51 

XXVII. 

So  various  are  the  projects  men  pursue; 
So  worthless  oft  the  objects  here  below ! 
But  is  there  nought  for  human  hands  to  do? 
Shall  all  be  deemed  a  false,  illusive  show  ? 
Is  mortal  life  no  more  than  trodden  weeds, 
And  faithless,  as  the  rise  and  fall  of  stocks  ? 
Oh,  no  !    There's  yet  the  man,  the  plough  that  speeds ; 
The  shepherd  still  is  seated  on  the  rocks, 
And  like  the  Patriarchs  old,  protects  and  guides  his  flocks. 

XXVIII. 

And  what  is  more,  there's  yet  the  secret  place 
Of  him,  who  speaks  to  great  Jehovah's  ear ; 
Remote  from  noise,  he  runs  his  godly  race, 
From  men  apart,  but  to  his  Maker  near. 
Behold  the  splendors  of  the  rising  sun ! 
Behold  the  blessings  of  the  falling  rain  ! 
Such  are  the  gifts  his  fervent  prayers  have  won, 
And  mental  dews  and  light  complete  his  gain. 
Unhonored  though  he  be,  he  doth  not  live  in  vain. 

XXIX. 

Perchance,  all  beneficial  arts  are  well, 
When  followed  with  a  conscientious  eye, 
When  what  is  done  shall  favorably  tell, 
However  small,  on  vast  Eternity. 
First  let  the  secret  heart  be  right ;  and  then, 
Ascendant  o'er  the  things  of  time  and  sense, 
Thou  shalt  not  fear  the  gibes  of  sordid  men, 
Whate'er  thy  task,  but  have  a  sure  defence 
In  one  o'er-ruling  Power,  a  righteous  Providence. 


52  VANITY    OP    HUMAN    PURSUITS. 

XXX. 

America !  My  own,  my  native  land ! 
To  thee  my  bosom  turns  with  fondness  true. 
Wouldst  thou  in  future  days  in  honor  stand, 
And  bear  thy  flag,  where  never  yet  it  flew, 
Then  seek  thy  glory,  not  in  treasured  gold, 
And  seek  it  less  in  blood  and  widow's  tears, 
But  rather  from  the  men,  the  plough  who  hold, 
And  him,  who  truth  and  piety  reveres. 
Thus  firmly  shalt  thou  dwell  through  all  the  coming  years. 


American    Cottage   Life, 


Under  this  title  we  propose  to  present  to  the  reader  a  series  of 
poems,  which  have  for  their  object  to  give  some  idea  of  American 
rural  life  as  it  is ;  and  especially  when  elevated  and  purified  by 
religious  influences.  To  do  this  with  poetical  spirit,  and  at  the 
same  time  with  near  conformity  to  the  truth,  it  must  be  admitted, 
is  no  easy  task.  But  we  hope  the  attempt  has  been  so  far  attended 
with  success,  that  the  reader  will  at  least  find  reason  for  increased 
attachment  to  his  favored  country,  and  to  her  domestic  and  reli- 
gious manners  and  institutions. 

(i.)     THE  FARMER'S  FIRESIDE. 

The  moving  accident  is  not  my  trade  ; 

To  freeze  the  blood  I  have  no  ready  arts ; 
'  Tis  my  delight,  alone  in  summer  shade. 

To  pipe  a  simple  song  for  thinking  hearts. 

Hart-leap  Well,  Wordsworth. 

I. 

Happy  the  man,  not  doomed  afar  to  roam, 
In  distant  lands,  beneath  a  foreign  sky, 
Who  hath  a  humble  and  secluded  home, 
Bathed  by  the  little  brook  that  prattles  by, 
With  trees  begirt,  and  birds  that  warble  nigh. 
He,  as  he  sitteth  in  his  humble  state, 
Hath  little  cause  for  earth's  poor  gauds  to  sigh; 
He  needs  not  envy  whom  the  world  calls  great, 
Who  live  in  splendid  house,  with  men  that  on  them  wait. 


54  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

II. 

The  king  upon  a  throne  a  sceptre  wields, 
The  cotter  for  a  sceptre  wields  a  hoe ; 
But  kings  have  griefs,  which  he,  who  tills  the  fields 
In  humble  honesty,  doth  never  know. 
He,  who  through  life  in  quietness  would  go, 
Far  from  the  noisy  world  his  way  will  keep, 
Beside  the  streams  in  solitude  that  flow, 
Contented  with  his  little  flock  of  sheep, 
Nor  seek,  in  Glory's  paths,  her  fading  wreaths  to  reap. 

III. 

Far  to  the  woodland  haunts  I  turn  mine  eye, 
Nor  longer  in  the  troubled  world  remain, 
Where  I  have  known  no  sweets  of  liberty, 
And  seeming  joy  hath  turned  to  real  pain. 
Welcome  to  wood,  to  mountain,  and  to  plain, 
To  silent  streams,  and  forests  reaching  wide ! 
But  chiefly  guide  my  weary  step  again 
To  youth's  rude  scenes,  Cocheco's  gushing  tide, 
And  that  old  Cottage,  once  that  graced  its  verdant  side. 

IV. 

Meekly  arose  its  moss-besprinkled  wall, 
Where  broad  and  green  the  elm  majestic  bore 
Its  branches  o'er  it,  overshadowing  all 
The  space  around  its  hospitable  door ; 
Within,  might  one  behold  its  little  store, 
The  plates  well  ranged,  the  shelves  that  neatly  graced, 
The  chairs  of  oak  upon  the  sanded  floor, 
The  wheel  industrious  in  its  corner  placed, 
The  clock,  "  that  hourly  told,  how  life  runs  on  to  waste." 


THE  FARMER'S  FIRESIDE.  55 

V. 

Once  more  the  pensive  eve  with  silent  tread 
Returns  to  hush  the  noisy  world  to  peace  ; 
Once  more  the  Farmer  seeks  his  humble  shed, 
Glad  from  his  daily  toil  to  gain  release, 
His  task  accomplished  and  his  heart  at  ease, 
And  hails  betimes  the  Fireside  of  his  Cot; 
And  there,  as  from  the  hills  the  shades  increase, 
"  The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot," 
He  tastes  the  simple  joys,  that  soothe  his  quiet  lot. 

VI. 

His  patient  herd,  ere  set  the  beams  of  day, 
With  lowings  oft  alarmed  the  neighboring  plain  ; 
Now  penned  within  the  well  known  bars,  they  pay 
Their  milky  tribute  to  his  pails  again. 
His  flocks  upon  the  distant  hill  remain, 
Their  tinkling  bells  sound  in  the  passing  wind ; 
Though  small  the  limits  of  his  rude  domain, 
Yet  fails  he  not  a  due  supply  to  find, 
From  lowing  herd  and  field,  and  from  the  bleating  kind, 

VII. 

To  greet  him  home  the  crackling  fagots  burn ; 
The  housewife,  busy  round  the  blazing  fire, 
Cheers  with  her  smiles  her  husband's  loved  return. 
His  children  climb  around  their  honored  sire, 
And  to  his  fond  caress  once  more  aspire ; 
Inquisitive,  they  ask  of  each  far  field, 
Whether  its  hills  than  their  own  cliffs  are  higher  ? 
What  wonders  there  of  cascade  are  revealed  ? 
What  flowers  enchanting  bloom,  what  gifts  the  moun- 
tains yield  ? 


56  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

VIII. 

The  smiling  Father  in  his  turn  inquires, 
What  sights  of  joy  hath  bright-eyed  Mary  seen? 
The  kind,  parental  look  her  voice  inspires, 
And  she  doth  tell,  where  o'er  their  plat  of  green 
The  elm  erects  its  sun-excluding  screen, 
She  watched  the  lambs,  and  saw  them  at  their  play ; 
Nor  had  they  long  at  their  rude  gambols  been, 
Ere  two  small  birds,  perched  on  a  little  spray, 
Proud  of  their  wings  of  red,  poured  forth  their  pretty  h 

IX. 

Her  father's  knee  his  Mary  soon  surmounts, 
Around  his  neck  her  tender  arms  she  throws ; 
From  her  bright  eyes,  as  from  celestial  founts, 
The  laughing  light  through  locks  of  darkness  glows. 
Nor  she  alone.     He  on  them  all  bestows 
Alike  his  kisses,  and  alike  his  tears, 
Who  bloomed,  (on  autumn's  bosom  like  the  rose, 
'  Mid  cold  and  storm  its  loveliness  that  rears,) 
To  cheer  his  riper  age,  and  deck  his  vale  of  years. 

X. 

To  him,  how  blessed  the  daylight's  closing  gleam, 
The  hour,  that  ushers  bliss  supremely  dear, 
When  bright  his  hearth  expands  its  evening  beam, 
And  needed  rest  succeeds  to  toil  severe  ! 
The  cricket  chirps  his  humble  home  to  cheer ; 
The  cheerful  blaze  illumes  the  white-washed  wall ; 
Bowed  on  the  hearth  the  wearied  dog  sleeps  near  ; 
The  playful  kitten,  round  and  round,  the  ball 
Urges  with  active  sport,  unmindfully  of  all. 


THE  FARMER'S  FIRESIDE.  57 

XI. 

The  children,  too,  disposed  to  childish  mirth, 
Their  busy  laugh  and  prattle  do  not  spare. 
Such  sounds  of  joy,  such  sports  around  his  hearth, 
Scenes,  which  each  eve  returning  doth  repair, 
Charm  from  the  farmer's  breast  corroding  care, 
And  banish  it  to  "  blank  oblivion  foul." 
Hark !  Loud  and  startling  through  the  misty  air, 
The  prowling  wolf  resumes  his  nightly  howl, 
And  from  the  hollow  oak  is  heard  the  muffled  owl. 

XII. 

How  oft  I  sought  that  distant,  lonely  cot ! 
A  grandam  dwelt  there,  when  my  days  were  young, 
And  there,  when  Christmas  logs  blazed  red  and  hot, 
And  wintry  blasts  their  nightly  descant  sung, 
My  soul  attentive  on  her  lips  has  hung, 
As  spoke  she  oft  of  dreadful  deeds  of  yore, 
How  savage  men  with  savage  fury  sprung 
Upon  the  lonely  cot,  and  tides  of  gore 
Were  shed,  as  when  the  clouds  their  vernal  treasures  pour. 

XIII. 

Her  hands  were  withered  as  an  autumn's  leaf, 
Her  cheeks  were  like  a  parched  and  shriveled  scroll ; 
In  truth  she  'd  seen,  though  life  at  best  be  brief, 
No  less  than  eighty  years  their  circuits  roll, 
And  friends  and  kindred  reach  their  earthly  goal ; 
And  sitting  by  her  busy  wheel  to  spin, 
While  swift  the  hours  at  evening  onward  stole, 
We  teazed  her  oft  some  story  to  begin, 
And  as  she  slowly  moved  her  old,  projecting  chin, 
5 


58  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XIV. 

Of  Chieftains  of  the  olden  year  she  told, 
Of  Hopehood's  wars  and  Paugus'  frantic  yell ; 
And,  as  her  lips  those  bloody  deeds  unfold, 
And  as,  with  upturned  gaze,  we  heard  her  tell, 
Unconsciously  the  chrystal  tear-drops  fell ; 
For,  from  our  infancy  we  'd  heard  and  read 
Of  chiefs  from  Canada,  and  knew  full  well 
Of  Sachem's  wrath,  that  feasted  on  the  dead, 
And  shook  the  haughty  plume,  and  arm  with  life-blood  red. 

XV. 

Oh,  who  can  tell  to  what  a  storm  of  grief, 
In  those  sad  days  our  father's  hearts  were  bared  ! 
They  were  no  common  sorrows,  few  and  brief, 
For  capture  wasted  what  the  sword  had  spared. 
Yet  strong  in  faith,  for  each  event  prepared, 
To  live  or  die,  as  God  should  order  how, 
The  griefs  and  dangers  of  their  lot  they  dared, 
They  walked  in  joy  and  glory  with  the  plough, 
And  at  the  throne  of  God  did  morn  and  evening  bow. 

XVI. 

Deem  it  not  strange  such  recollections  fill 
With  feelings  new  and  strong  the  youthful  mind; 
They  make  e'en  seared  and  aged  bosoms  thrill, 
And  mourn  the  woes  that  fall  on  human  kind. 
One  evening  to  that  cot  my  steps  inclined, 
The  giant  elm-tree  waved  before  its  door, 
The  frowning  clouds  were  driven  before  the  wind, 
The  distant  cataract  was  heard  to  roar, 
And  pale  the  tranquil  moon,  as  wave  on  ocean's  shore. 


THE  FARMER'S  FIRESIDE.  59 

XVII. 

There,  too,  a  soldier  bent  his  nightly  way, 
('T  was  long  ago,)  one  of  "  the  Old  French  War," 
Who  carried  proof  of  fierce  and  bloody  fray 
Upon  his  visage,  marked  with  seam  and  scar ; 
Weary  his  step,  for  he  had  wandered  far, 
The  locks  upon  his  silvered  head  were  few, 
His  eye  was  like  the  winter's  clouded  star, 
But  much  that  eye  had  seen,  and  much  he  knew, 
Though  now  his  frame  was  bent,  and  towards  the  grave 
he  drew. 

XVIII. 

The  sturdy  staff,  that  in  his  hand  he  bore, 
Was  parted  from  an  oak,  whose  branches  spread 
Near  wild  Cocheco's  oft  remembered  roar ; 
And  turning  to  the  cottage  door  his  tread, 
Though  old  and  weary,  well  his  purpose  sped. 
The  farmer  hailed  him  to  his  lone  abode, 
Gave  him  a  portion  of  his  cup  and  bread, 
And  soon,  forgetful  of  the  tedious  road, 
How  fields  were  lost  and  won,  the  aged  soldier  showed. 

XIX. 

He  told  the  deeds  of  Abraham's  blood-red  plain, 
Where,  as  their  standards  flashed  upon  the  gale, 
The  rival  warriors  fell  like  summer's  rain, 
And  shouts  were  heard,  triumphant  songs,  and  wail ; 
Not  unto  him  a  visionary  tale; 
For,  where  the  wide  St.  Lawrence  winds  his  way, 
He  fought  with  Wolfe,  called  from  his  native  vale, 
And  dark  Piscatawa's  glades  of  green  array, 
To  cross  the  mountains  blue  to  distant  Canada. 


60  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XX. 

Full  well  he  knew  the  cruelties  of  strife, 
For,  as  he  trod,  with  blood-red  foot,  the  field, 
He  saw  full  many  in  the  morn  of  life, 
Their  parents'  hope,  to  death  and  darkness  sealed. 
Alas,  what  woes  that  dreadful  day  revealed ! 
The  day,  when  fell  the  chivalrous  Montcalm. 
And  then  more  loud  the  trump  its  war-note  pealed ; 
And,  (withered  be  the  hand  that  wrought  such  harm,) 
Soon  Wolfe  sunk  bleeding  low,  nerveless  his  mighty  arm. 

XXI. 

Thus  did  the  bowed  old  man,  with  hoary  head, 
Relate  the  sad  and  stormy  times  of  yore, 
When  jealous  France  and  England  madly  shed 
Upon  the  deserts  of  this  Western  shore, 
As  it  were  worthless  dust,  their  bosom's  gore. 
So  prompt  are  men,  from  pride  or  lust  of  gain, 
Whate'er  they  have,  still  seeking  after  more, 
To  scoff  at  love,  and  justice  to  profane, 
And  with  a  brother's  blood  a  brother's  hand  to  stain. 

XXII. 

But  though  such  tales  were  heard  with  many  a  tear, 
And  mem'ry,  fancy,  feeling  all  possessed, 
Yet  soon,  in  truth,  the  gayety  and  cheer 
That  ever  animate  the  youthful  breast, 
By  solemn  thoughts,  unconquered,  unsuppressed, 
Awoke  in  sports  anew  ;  the  slipper's  sound, 
By  youth  and  village  maiden  ne'er  at  rest, 
Was  driven  through  the  circle  round  and  round, 
And  every  cheek  did  smile,  and  every  heart  did  bound. 


THE  FARMER'S  FIRESIDE.  61 

XXIII. 

E'en  the  old  soldier  felt  his  bosom  thrill 
With  memory  of  scenes,  that  erst  he  knew  ; 
His  mind  the  visions  of  his  childhood  fill, 
And  as  around  the  room  the  children  flew 
At  Blind-Man's  Buff,  he  would  have  joined  them  too, 
But  age  to  youth  will  not  wing  back  its  flight  ; 
To  sit  and  smile  was  all  that  he  could  do, 
While  he,  who  blinded  was,  to  left  and  right 
Rushed  wildly  round  the  room,  and  caught  them  as  he 
might. 

XXIV. 

At  blind-man's  buff,  who  hath  not  often  played, 
At  pledges  oft  the  moments  to  beguile, 
When  sober  evening  lends  her  peaceful  shade, 
When  heart  replies  to  heart,  and  smile  to  smile  ? 
The  hearth  is  burdened  with  the  oaken  pile, 
Such  as  New  England's  forests  well  can  spare ; 
Still  flies  the  slipper  round ; — a  few  meanwhile 
The  warriors  of  the  chequer-board  prepare, 
The  garrulous  old  folk  draw,  round  the  fire,  the  chair. 

XXV. 

But  now  the  white  moon,  through  the  clouds  revealed, 
Doth  tread  the  topmost  arches  of  the  sky ; 
The  Farmer's  cot,  the  cultivated  field, 
The  brook,  the  plain,  the  mountain  soaring  high, 
Beneath  her  beams  in  wild  profusion  lie. 
The  dog  upon  the  ground  hath  lain  his  breast, 
Stilled  is  his  howl,  and  ceas'd  his  restless  eye ; 
The  sturdy  wood-cutter  hath  gone  to  rest ; 
The  flock  is  on  the  hill,  the  bird  is  on  the  nest. 
5* 


62  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XXVI. 

Farewell,  thou  cottage,  for  't  is  late  at  eve, 
Farewell,  ye  scenes  to  memory  ever  dear ! 
Now  eld,  and  youth,  and  maiden  take  their  leave, 
Their  'kerchiefs  wave,  'and  with  adieu  sincere, 
The  rural  company  soon  disappear  ; 
Some  through  yon  scattered  woods,  that  skirt  the  moor, 
Some  to  yon  mountains,  craggy,  bold,  and  drear, 
And  by  the  Fireside  of  the  cot  once  more, 
Devotion  lifts  her  voice,  as  she  was  wont  of  yore. 

XXVII. 

The  thoughtful  farmer  reads  the  Sacred  Book, 
Then  with  the  wife  and  children  of  his  heart, 
With  solemn  soul  and  reverential  look, 
He  humbly  kneels,  as  is  the  Christian's  part, 
And  worships  Thee,  our  Father,  Thee,  who  art 
The- good  man's  hope,  the  poor  man's  only  stay ; 
Who  hast  a  balm  for  sorrow's  keenest  dart, 
A  smile  for  those,  to  thee  who  humbly  pray, 
Which,  like  the  morning  sun,  drives  every  cloud  away. 

XXVIII. 

Thou,  Lord  of  Heaven  above,  and  earth  below, 
Our  maker,  friend,  our  guardian,  and  our  all, 
The  Farmer  keep  from  every  want  and  woe, 
Nor  let  the  thunderbolts,  that  most  appall, 
Of  righteous  vengeance,  dreadful  on  him  fall ; 
With  him  preserve  his  dear,  his  native  land ; 
A  cloud  be  round  her,  and  a  fiery  wall, 
In  innocence  and  honor  let  her  stand, 
And  centuries  yet  to  come,  oh,  hold  her  in  thy  hand. 


American   Cottage   life, 


(ll.)       THE    HOME    IN    THE    MOUNTAINS. 

[A  few  miles  back  of  the  early  residence  of  the  writer,  is  a  range 
of  beautiful  mountains.  They  are  gradual  in  their  ascent,  and  in 
some  places  cultivated  to  the  top.  They  are  inhabited  by  an  in- 
dustrious and  intelligent,  and,  for  the  most  part,  a  religious  people. 
These  mountains  were  the  scene  of  the  writer's  youthful  visits ; 
and  it  was  his  good  fortune  to  become  acquainted  with  some  of  the 
inhabitants.  It  is  the  object  of  the  following  Poem  to  embody 
some  of  the  pleasing  impressions  to  which  that  acquaintance  gave 
rise.] 

I. 

I,  WHO  with  other  scenes  familiar  grown, 
Have  spent  my  days  amid  the  city's  strife, 
Too  long  to  rugged  hills  and  woods  unknown, 
Have  learnt  at  last  the  joys  of  cottage  life, 
The  hardy  toil,  the  form  inspired  with  health, 
The  warmth  of  friendship,  and  the  guileless  ways. 
Ye,  who  in  vain  seek  happiness  in  wealth, 
Attentive,  meditate  my  simple  lays, 
Inspired  by  truth,  perchance,  if  wanting  other  praise. 


64  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

II. 

Up,  from  the  mart  of  busy  commerce  flee, 
Its  pomp  and  jarring  tumult  leave  behind; 
When  birds  are  singing  in  the  summer's  tree, 
Or  Autumn  comes  his  golden  sheaves  to  bind. 
Go  forth  amid  the  forest  and  the  rocks, 
And  there  untarnished  truth  and  virtue  trace  ; 
As  thou  shalt  see  the  shepherd  with  his  flocks, 
Or  scan,  as  I  do  now,  the  ploughman's  race, 
Or,  at  the  cottage  hearth,  shalt  mingle  face  to  face. 

III. 

'T  was  thus  I  onward  fared,  one  summer's  day, 
Where  rising  hills  in  native  grandeur  spread ; 
Lonely  and  far  the  path  ascending  lay, 
That  upward  to  the  Farmer's  dwelling  led. 
The  merry  birds  poured  forth  their  various  song ; 
The  squirrel  on  the  hazel  took  his  seat ; 
The  bubbling  brooks  danced  rapidly  along, 
And  filled  the  forest  with  their  echoes  sweet, 
As  through  the  woods  I  went,  my  rural  friend  to  meet. 

[V. 

Nor  was  the  meeting  void  of  friendship's  truth, 
Repressed  by  selfishness,  or  marred  by  fears ; 
For  we  had  known  each  other  in  our  youth, 
And  youthful  love  had  grown  with  riper  years. 
His  Home  was  in  the  Mountains.     Far  from  noise, 
And  undisturbed  by  grandeur's  gaudy  scene, 
He,  with  his  wife  and  children,  had  his  joys, 
Calm  as  their  mountain  sunset's  ray  serene, 
Although,  perchance,  at  times,  some  clouds  may  intervene. 


THE    HOME    IN    THE    MOUNTAINS.  65 

V. 

His  bliss  was  not  in  Idleness,  't  is  true. 
(On  that  dull  tree  true  pleasure  will  not  grow.) 
The  Farmer  ever  had  his  work  to  do, 
And  wanton  days  and  slothful,  did  not  know. 
The  sun,  that  doth  no  sluggard's  part  fulfill, 
What  time  it  decks  the  sky  with  earliest  red, 
And  scales  with  dewy  step  the  eastern  hill, 
Ne'er  found  him  useless  in  the  loiterer's  bed, 
But  forth,  with  men  and  boys,  where  toil  and  duty  led. 

VI. 

Uprose  the  sun,  and  "  uprose  Emily ;  " 
Thus  English  Chaucer  sung  in  days  of  old. 
Uprose  the  sun ;  nor  was  less  pleased  to  see 
The  Farmer's  daughters,  with  his  eye  of  gold. 
The  morning  maids  were  at  their  milking  pail ; 
And  soon  the  cows,  obedient  to  their  word, 
Regained,  in  lengthened  row,  the  distant  vale  ; 
And  all  around,  to  higher  anthems  stirred, 
From  glittering  bush  and  tree,  sung  loud  the  early  bird. 

VII. 

The  maids,  if  right  I  saw,  were  well  content, 
Nor  envied  aught  the  sport  and  splendor  found 
Among  the  gay,  the  proud,  the  opulent. 
Far  other  cares  they  knew.     The  daily  round 
Of  household  duties  occupied  their  thought  ; 
The  churn,  the  wheel,  and  to  the  parent  pair, 
By  Nature's  strong  unerring  instinct  taught, 
They  fondly  gave  their  homage  and  their  care. 
Such  were  their  useful  toils,  such  humble  joys  they  share. 


66  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

VIII. 

One  ruling  wish  they  had.     It  was  to  spend 
Upon  their  native  hills  their  peaceful  days, 
Where  they  had  known  the  neighbor  and  the  friend, 
A  parent's  fondness,  and  a  brother's  praise. 
"  Still  to  our  hearts  our  native  hills  are  dear," 
Thus  sung  they  oft  by  murmuring  brook  and  tree, 
Where,  with  their  gossip  maids  they  sit  and  hear, 
At  sultry  noon  or  starlight  shining  free, 
Of  all  their  sports  and  toils,  the  humble  history. 

IX. 

Those,  who  are  pent  in  sylvan  scenes  apart, 
Whene'er  they  meet,  have  ever  much  to  say ; 
Their  words  bear  not  the  stamp  of  polished  art, 
Nor  are  they  such,  as  higher  minds  might  sway. 
But  though  their  speech  is  not  of  things  that  thrill, 
And  bring  sad  shadows  o'er  the  throbbing  brow, 
'T  is  such  as  may  a  Cotter's  fancy  fill, 
Though  but  the  story  of  his  faithful  plough, 
Or  of  his  petted  lamb,  or  luckless  wandering  cow. 

X. 

Sometimes  the  sheep,  that  stray,  ne'er  come  again ; 
Sometimes  the  fox  invades  the  garden's  bound ; 
Or  sudden  winds  have  vexed  the  standing  grain, 
Or  blown,  alas,  the  village  steeple  down. 
But  all  such  things  shall  pass,  as  they  have  come, 
And  every  shadow  from  the  memory  flee, 
When  Lucy's  brother  from  the  town  comes  home, 
And  Jeannie's  lad  returns  from  o'er  the  sea, 
To  rest  from  toil  awhile,  in  mountain  liberty. 


THE    HOME    IN   THE    MOUNTAINS.  67 

XL 

'T  is  ever  thus.     The  ties  of  friend  and  kin 
Are  found  most  strong  and  most  with  pleasure  rife, 
Among  the  dwellings  of  the  poor,  and  in 
The  unambitious  walks  of  rural  life. 
With  woods  around  them,  waters  at  their  feet, 
With  flowers  beneath,  and  fragrance  in  the  air, 
'T  is  not  in  vain,  that  they  each  other  meet ; 
Not  one,  that  has  a  pleasure  or  a  care, 
But  calls  a  kindred  heart,  that  joy  or  grief  to  share. 

XII. 

The  restless  steers  are  fastened  to  the  wain ; 
(I  marked  them  ere  they  went  their  sounding  way;) 
The  early  ditcher  seeks  the  fields  again, 
With  shovel  glancing  in  the  morning  ray. 
With  bag  and  barley  from  the  threshing-floor, 
The  slow-paced  horse  expands  his  loaded  side. 
The  feathered  group  surround  the  cottage  door, 
And  Mary,  with  her  basin  well  supplied, 
Forth  from  her  little  hand  their  portion  doth  divide. 

XIII. 

Far  in  the  noisy  woods,  the  bleating  sheep 
Ascend  the  rocks,  and  breathe  the  upland  air. 
The  fair-haired  William  there  his  watch  doth  keep, 
Too  young  as  yet,  a  higher  charge  to  share. 
Nor  outward  sights  alone  refresh  the  eye, 
Nor  outward  labors  to  the  heart  appeal ; 
The  elder  Jane  her  constant  task  doth  ply, 
Within  the  cottage-walls,  with  cheerful  zeal, 
And,  singing  rural  songs,  still  turns  her  murmuring  wheel. 


t)S  AMERICAN  COTTAGE  LIFE. 

XIV. 

Such  are  the  scenes,  that  Mountain  homes  unfold ; 
The  history  such  of  those  who  till  the  land. 
Forth  in  the  fields  the  Cotter's  self  behold 
Behind  his  plough,  with  persevering  hand. 
Nor  deem  it  a  disgrace  the  plough  to  guide : 
Did  not  great  Cincinnatus  till  the  ground, 
He,  who  the  hostile  Volsci  scattered  wide  ? 
The  Seer  Elisha,  at  the  plough  was  found ; 
The   plough,  that  reverence   claims   the   mighty  world 
around. 

XV. 

I  venerate  the  man  the  plough  who  speeds, 
The  independent  tiller  of  the  soil, 
Who,  boasting  not  of  vainly  glorious  deeds, 
Yet  scorns  to  live  by  other  people's  toil. 
Though  all  unnoticed  in  ambition's  strife, 
Which,  with  its  noisy  war  doth  wide  resound, 
There's  yet  a  pleasure  in  the  Ploughman's  life, 
A  bliss,  attendant  on  the  cultured  ground, 
Which  kings  and  Caesars  seek,  but  never  yet  have  found. 

XVI. 

And  then  at  eve  behold  him  at  his  hearth, 
Planning  the  duties  of  the  coming  morn  ; 
How  one  shall  wield  the  axe  or  spade  the  earth, 
Another's  task  to  till  the  tender  corn  : 
Around  him  sit  the  peaceful  household  train ; 
And  he,  by  Nature's  right,  their  guide  and  head. 
Than  this,  what  juster  power,  or  glorious  reign  ! 
The  lads  marked  well  whate'er  the  father  said, 
By  his  experience  taught,  and  by  his  wisdom  led. 


THE    HOME    IN    THE    MOUNTAINS.  t)U 

XVII. 

And  if  at  times  the  children  leave  their  home, 
In  village  near,  some  little  wealth  to  earn, 
The  heart,  untraveled,  hath  no  power  to  roam, 
Nor  long  the  time  which  sees  them  all  return. 
Fair  shines  their  cottage  to  the  mental  sight, 
And  pleasures  blossom  in  their  mountain  air. 
Scarce  does  the  week  resign  its  parting  light, 
When,  with  a  love  unchanged,  they  forth  repair, 
And  hail  their  happy  hearth,  its  wonted  blessings  share. 

XVIII. 

And  thus  in  solitude,  yet  not  alone, 
They  have  their  joys  and  duties  day  by  day ; 
To  them  unchanging  Honor's  path  is  known, 
Though  shut  from  noisy  Glory's  towering  way. 
Their  feelings  deep;  if  pensive,  yet  sincere; 
And  when  they  meet,  poured  through  each  other's  mind, 
In  answering  smiles,  or  sympathizing  tear ; 
With  power  too  great  for  outward  forms  to  bind, 
And  pure  as  they  are  strong,  though  not  by  art  refined. 

XIX. 

And  on  some  pleasant  days,  in  shaded  walks, 
They  wander  far,  when  hills  and  woods  are  green ; 
Around  them  is  the  voice  of  joyful  flocks, 
And  flowers,  and  sounding  waters  grace  the  scene. 
Yes,  there  are  those,  the  pure  and  high  of  soul, 
Whose  passions,  by  a  Holy  Power  subdued, 
Are  won  to  virtue'^  wise  and  just  control ; 
And  such,  though  deemed  in  outward  manners  rude, 
Shall  drink,  from  Nature's  works,  the  beautiful  and  good. 
6 


70  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XX. 

And  Nature  is  to  them  a  living  thing, 
Food  to  the  heart  and  beauty  to  the  eye ; 
The  hill,  the  mossy  tree,  the  bubbling  spring, 
The  bud,  the  flower,  the  Autumn's  mellow  sky, 
Awake  the  moral  thought  and  sympathy. 
The  bird  goes  singing  up,  its  joy  revealing; 
The  gilded  insect  passes  buzzing  by ; 
The  quiet  bee,  o'er  beds  of  flowerets  stealing  ; 
All  share  their  joyful  eye,  all  wake  their  better  feeling, 

XXI. 

Those,  whom  religious  life  hath  given  to  know 
The  right,  the  pure,  the  honest,  and  the  fair, 
Have  a  new  power.     In  all  above,  below, 
In  heaven  and  earth,  the  waters  and  the  air, 
There's  a  new  glow  of  beauty.     God's  revealed  j 
The  high,  entranced  eye  of  Faith  can  see, 
(No  longer  by  the  earth's  dim  shadows  sealed,) 
The  bright  effulgence  of  the  Deity, 
The  glory  now  that  is,  the  greater  that  shall  be. 

XXII. 

That  glory  shines  in  every  planet's  ray; 
'T  is  sounding  forth  in  every  blessed  rill  ; 
Upon  the  winged  winds  it  makes  its  way, 
O'er  blooming  valley,  and  o'er  frowning  hill ; 
And  sends  its  light  from  all  creation  round. 
In  rural  scenes,  from  polished  arts  afar, 
Where  Faith  in  all  its  holy  power  is  found, 
It  shines  with  nought  its  lustre  that  may  mar, 
Enthroned  in  life  and  heart,  the  favorite  guiding  star. 


American   Cottage   life 


(ill.)       THE    WINTER    EVENING. 

[The  Winter  Evening  constitutes  in  the  Farmer's  life,  more 
truly  and  emphatically  than  in  the  life  of  any  other  class  of  per- 
sons, a  period  by  itself,  a  select  season,  a  portion  of  time,  known 
and  recognized  by  its  distinctive  traits,  and  blessed  with  its  pecul- 
iar pleasures.  It  is  a  season  of  the  year,  when  there  is,  to  a 
considerable  extent,  a  relaxation  from  that  constant  toil,  which 
occupies  him  in  the  more  genial  months.  He  is  at  home,  in  the 
bosom  of  his  family ;  and  in  the  exercise  and  interchange  of 
domestic  feelings  enjoys  a  degree  of  humble  happiness,  which  the 
wealthy  and  luxurious  have  but  little  conception  of.  We  have 
here,  therefore,  a  distinct  and  interesting  subject,  which,  poetry, 
coming  from  a  heart  that  can  understand  and  fully  sympathize 
with  rural  life,  may  properly  and  successfully  adopt  as  its  own.] 

I. 

THE  summer's  fading  flowers  have  passed  away, 
And  wintry  snows  invest  the  frozen  ground ; 
And  now,  when  closes  fast  the  setting  day, 
The  silent  stars  resume  their  nightly  round ; 
And  bright,  emerging  from  her  depths  profound, 
The  placid  moon  adorns  the  central  sky. 
Oh,  Winter  Eve !  The  muse  at  length  shall  sound, 
Long  wont  on  other  themes  her  skill  to  try, 
Her  notes,  as  well  she  may,  in  fitting  praise  of  thee. 


72  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

II. 

The  winds  are  hushed,  and  all  around  is  calm ; 
Scarce  on  the  cold  blue  heavens  is  seen  a  cloud  ; 
Nor  sudden  rains  nor  storms,  with  rude  alarm, 
Come  forth  with  meteor  glooms  the  earth  to  shroud. 
Prone  in  their  quiet  folds  the  sheep  are  bowed ; 
The  teamster  drives  abroad ;  and  o'er  the  way, 
With  clear,  shrill  bells,  resounding  oft  and  loud, 
The  well-wrapped  traveler  guides  his  rapid  sleigh, 
And  merry  cracks  his  whip,  or  sings  his  rustic  lay. 

III. 

And  see!  Along  the  glassy  river's  face, 
On  skates  swift-gliding,  or  perchance  without, 
The  village  lads  each  other  gaily  chase, 
And  rising  loud,  the  oft  repeated  shout 
Of  those,  who  tire  their  boon  companions  out, 
Or  pass  them  in  the  race,  bursts  to  the  sky. 
Anon,  while  distant  whirls  the  giddy  rout, 
Some  neighbor  lads  their  wits  at  jesting  try; 
Some  tell  a  jocund  tale,  some  laugh  out  merrily. 

IV. 

E'en  winter  has  its  charms.     How  pure  the  glow, 
That  decks  the  pensive  brow  of  evening's  queen ! 
The  spotless  hills,  adorned  in  robes  of  snow, 
Ascend  in  light  and  loveliness  serene. 
Far  in  the  tranquil  distance  may  be  seen 
The  hoary  forests  and  the  mountain  pile. 
Shut  to  the  door !     The  outer  air  is  keen  ; 
And  'neath  the  cottage  roof  repose  awhile, 
Where,  round  its  joyous  hearth,  the  happy  inmates  smile. 


THE    WINTER    EVENING.  73 

V. 

The  fire  is  blazing  with  the  crackling  trees ; 
Upon  the  walls  the  dancing  shadows  play ; 
Without,  is  heard  the  sudden  winter  breeze, 
And  then  more  close  they  gird  the  hearth's  bright  ray- 
The  aged  Father's  there.     His  locks  of  gray, 
In  many  a  twine,  are  round  his  shoulders  spread. 
His  eye  beams  not,  as  in  his  earlier  day, 
When  strength  and  buoyant  youth  inspired  his  tread ; 
Yet  pleasant  are  the  joys  his  age  doth  round  him  shed. 

VI. 

For  oft  to  fondly  listening  ears  he  traced, 
How,  in  his  youth,  in  distant  lands  and  new, 
He  smote  the  soil,  the  rocks  and  woods  displaced, 
Until  the  desert  to  a  garden  grew. 
And  much  he  told,  (for  much  forsooth  he  knew,) 
How  best  to  rear  the  sheep  or  lowing  herd, 
Of  what  in  spring  and  autumn  months  to  do ; 
And  to  his  serious  mind  it  oft  occurred, 
To  mingle,  as  he  spake,  the  monitory  word. 

VII. 

His  prompt  and  careful  wife  seemed  "made  of  fire," 
For,  round  and  round,  she  plied  her  rapid  wheel ; 
She  knew  not  at  her  daily  task  to  tire, 
And  scarce  the  withering  touch  of  age  did  feel. 
While  others  pressed  the  couch,  with  wakeful  zeal, 
Soon  as  the  early  note  of  chanticleer, 
Heard  from  the  neighboring  barn,  renewed  its  peal, 
She  called  aloud ;  the  starting  maidens  hear, 
And  hasten  to  their  work,  ere  morning  gleams  appear. 
6* 


74  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

VIII. 

A  dweller  here,  the  sturdy  ditcher  Tims, 
True  to  his  spade,  though  crowned  with  tresses  gray  ; 
He,  on  the  settle,  throws  his  weary  limbs, 
(As  well  he  might,  who  toilsome  spends  the  day,) 
And  bids  in  rustic  dreams  his  cares  away. 
And  there  was  one ;  he  was  an  Orphan  lad, 
Who  came  at  first  in  tears  and  mean  array, 
But  generous  friendship  made  his  bosom  glad, 
And  here  Dick  toiled  by  day,  and  here  his  dwelling  had. 

IX. 

Nor  these  alone  were  there ;  a  numerous  race, 
To  filial  love  and  deeds  of  reverence  true, 
Graced  from  their  early  days  their  dwelling-place, 
And  humble  arts  and  household  duties  knew. 
And  often,  when  their  daily  task  was  through, 
And  evening's  shadows  darkened  in  the  air, 
Around  the  hearth  the  sons  and  daughters  drew ; 
Of  looms  and  distaffs  these,  (whate'er  their  care,) 
Those  spake  of  huntings,  wilds,  and  mountains  drear  and 
bare. 

X. 

If  angry  storms  have  o'er  the  mountains  broke, 
And  deluged  wide  the  fields  with  sudden  rain  ; 
If  lightnings,  redly  winged,  have  rent  the  oak, 
That  mighty  stood,  the  monarch  of  the  plain  ; 
If  fierce  the  sullen  wolf  hath  come  again, 
With  bloody  thoughts,  and  ready  to  destroy ; 
These,  too,  (nor  deem  their  humble  converse  vain, 
Recurring  oft,  may  well  their  thoughts  employ, 
And  fill  the  social  hours  with  sorrow  or  with  joy. 


THE    WINTER    EVENING.  75 

XI. 

Perhaps  they  listen  to  some  ancient  tale, 
(What  land  cannot  its  legends  rude  recall  ?) 
Which  tells  of  other  days  of  grief  and  wail, 
And  sudden  bids  the  generous  tear-drop  fall. 
Perchance  more  recent  themes  their  minds  enthral, 
Themes,  that  are  sad  with  deep  domestic  woe  ; 
As  when  but  lately,  though  adorned  with  all 
That  worth  could  give,  or  beauty's  charms  bestow, 
The  mountain  maid  they  loved,  was  in  the  grave  laid  low. 

XII. 

Hark  !  scarcely  noticed,  doth  the  noiseless  door, 
Unfolding  soft,  invite  a  stranger  in  ; 
A  daughter  of  the  oft-neglected  poor, 
But  she  hath  virtues  that  exalt  and  win. 
They  grasp  her  hand,  as  if  she  were  their  kin, 
Their  hearts,  their  hopes  congenial  with  her  own. 
Soon  other  joys  and  other  tales  begin  ; 
The  rural  news  is  round  the  hearth  made  known ; 
Anon  the  darker  scenes,  which  memory  drew,  are  flown. 

XIII. 

And  well  the  maiden  merited  their  praise, 
As  pleased  they  listened  to  her  simple  tone  ; 
Far  in  the  wilds,  't  is  true,  she  spent  her  days, 
Accomplished  well  in  rural  arts  alone. 
But  none  the  less  her  sylvan  beauty  shone, 
And  guileless  honor  crowned  her  virgin  heart. 
Ah,  little  to  the  busy  world  are  known 
The  virtue  and  the  bliss  that  dwell  apart, 
Far  from  the  crowded  hall,  and  place  of  polished  art. 


76  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XIV. 

Dick  in  his  corner  sits  with  wondering  gaze ; 
Attentive  he,  though  seldom  heard  to  speak  ; 
Upon  his  hand  his  lazy  chin  he  stays, 
Distending  wide  his  plump  and  steadfast  cheek. 
Despite  his  quiet  aspect,  rude  yet  meek, 
He  loves  the  song  and  merry  tale  to  hear  ; 
And,  slow  the  pleasant  couch  of  rest  to  seek, 
Though  not  unused  to  wearying  toil  severe, 
He  sometimes  loudly  laughs,  and  sometimes  sheds  the  tear. 

XV. 

Placed  in  the  great  arm-chair,  the  Grandam  sitting, 
In  decent  cap,  with  spectacles  astride, 
Old  as  she  is,  she  still  is  at  her  knitting ; 
And,  though  by  age  and  many  sorrows  tried, 
Is  ever  last  to  lay  her  work  aside. 
The  little  Lizy,  bright  as  flowers  of  spring, 
And  noisy,  too,  as  birds  in  summer's  pride, 
Yields  to  the  common  joy  her  offering. 
The  faggots  blaze  anew,  the  bubbling  kettles  sing. 

XVI. 

And  oft  the  evening's  merry  sports  go  round 
In  games,  repeated  long  with  fervent  will. 
The  simple  board  with  autumn's  fruits  is  crowned ; 
Perchance  some  vagrant  minstrel  adds  his  skill, 
Meantime,  (who  else  the  vacant  rack  shall  fill?) 
Doth  honest  Dick  go  forth  the  herd  to  feed ; 
And  whistling  loud,  with  Rover  at  his  heel, 
Who  ever  follows  at  his  master's  need, 
He  thinks  of  stalking  ghosts,  or  some  mysterious  deed. 


THE    WINTER    EVENING.  77 

XVII. 

And  now,  when  skies  are  clear  and  toils  are  done, 
(And  may  that  ancient  custom  long  abide,) 
With  joyous  hearts,  united  all  as  one, 
In  ready  sleigh,  the  youth  and  maidens  glide. 
They  seek  the  plains ;  they  climb  the  hillock's  side ; 
Well  pleased,  they  praise  the  splendors  of  the  night, 
The  stars,  that  give  the  galaxy  its  pride, 
The  overhanging  cliffs  in  robes  of  white, 
The  chaste,  unclouded  moon,  that  sheds  o'er  all  her  light. 

XVIII. 

The  cracking  thong,  the  tramp,  the  bells'  rude  chime, 
The  owl  have  frightened  from  his  leafless  bower, 
Where  hooting  oft  at  midnight's  "  witching  time," 
His  song  has  added  terror  to  that  hour. 
They  pass  the  forests  wide,  that  proudly  tower ; 
The  wild  deer  lifts  his  arching  head  to  hear, 
High  on  his  cliffs.     Dreading  the  hunter's  power, 
The  hare  starts  suddenly  away  with  fear, 
Then  crouching  to  the  ground,  erects  his  sentinel  ear. 

IX. 

Far  other  was  the  night,  whose  whirlwinds  loud 
Tossed  through  the  troubled  air  the  restless  snow ; 
Darkly  on  high  went  forth  the  angry  cloud, 
And  breaking  forests  uttered  sounds  of  woe. 
Remote,  alone,  with  footsteps  faint  and  slow, 
That  night  a  HUNTER  did  his  way  pursue. 
Cold  o'er  his  track,  the  stormy  tempests  blow  ; 
No  cot  was  near,  his  strength  that  might  renew ; 
His  hands  to  ice  congealed ;  his  cheeks  to  marble  grew. 


78  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XX. 

Sad  victim  of  the  storm  and  weary  way, 
He  bowed  his  head,  like  one  that  soon  shall  die, 
For  life  was  breaking  from  its  house  of  clay, 
And  light  was  stealing  from  his  glassy  eye. 
And  yet  he  had  a  home,  a  wife,  and  nigh 
His  cheerful  hearth,  were  lovely  children  twain. 
No  more  their  heads  shall  on  his  bosom  lie, 
No  more  he'll  press  their  ruddy  lips  again, 
Cold  is  the  HUNTER'S  breast  upon  the  distant  plain. 

XXI. 

But  whither  bends  the  muse  her  wayward  flight, 
Indulging  thus  in  solemn  minstrelsy  ? 
'T  is  true,  when  winter  spreads  o'er  earth  its  blight, 
And  rends  its  bloom  and  fruit  from  field  and  tree, 
That  songs  of  joy  may  uncongenial  be  ; 
Such  as  would  suit,  when  birds  are  on  the  wing, 
And  leaf  and  flower  are  shining  laughingly. 
And  yet,  though  sad,  she  will  not  cease  to  sing, 
But  ever,  full  of  life,  her  various  tribute  bring. 

XXII. 

Then  rouse  the  fire ;  the  moon  is  watching  yet ; 
And  chanticleer  his  midnight  cry  delays. 
Though  others,  pleased  with  modern  things,  forget, 
Old  Tims,  at  least,  shall  tell  of  other  days. 
'T  is  pleasant,  seated  round  the  evening  blaze, 
In  Fancy's  eye,  the  wonders  to  review 
Of  chieftains  of  the  lost,  the  native  race. 
And  memory  yet  her  efforts  shall  renew, 
And  Passaconaway*  sketch  with  tints  and  honors  due. 

*  See  the  note,  which  belongs  here,  on  the  next  page. 


THE    WINTER    EVENING.  79 

XXIII. 

Son  of  the  forest !  Child  of  deathless  fame  ! 
If  wond'rous  deeds  a  deathless  name  can  win ; 
Who  bore  aloft,  where'er  in  wrath  he  came, 
The  club,  that  oft  had  made  the  battle  thin, 
And  fearless  raised  the  war-cry's  dreadful  din. 
Around  his  painted  neck  terrific  hung, 
With  dangling  claws,  a  huge  and  shaggy  skin ; 
The  curious  fish-bones  o'er  his  bosom  swung, 
And  oft  the  Sachem  danced,  and  oft  the  Sachem  sung. 

XXIV. 

Strange  man !    A  tenant  of  the  dusky  wood, 
The  cave,  the  mountain,  and  the  tangled  glen, 
He  roused  the  hissing  serpent,  and  pursued 
The  angry  bear,  and  slew  him  in  his  den. 
O'er  craggy  cliffs,  the  dread  of  other  men, 
The  eagle's  solitary  home  he  sought, 
And  sternly  tamed  his  mighty  wing,  and  then 
O'ertook  the  tall  gray  moose,  as  quick  as  thought, 
And  then  the  mountain  cat  he  chased,  and  chasing  caught. 

*  This  is  the  name  of  a  distinguished  Indian  Sachem,  residing 
at  the  place  known  by  the  Indian  name  of  Penacook,  whose  do- 
minions, chiefly  upon  the  banks  of  the  Merrimack  and  Piscatawa 
riverSjWere  very  extensive.  "  He  excelled  the  other  Sachems,"  says 
Belknap,  in  his  history  of  New  Hampshire,  Vol  .1,  chap.  5,  "in  sa- 
gacity, duplicity,  and  moderation ;  but  his  principle  qualification 
was  his  skill  in  some  of  the  secret  operations  of  nature,  which  gave 
him  the  reputation  of  a  sorcerer,  and  extended  his  fame  and  influ- 
ence among  all  the  neighboring  tribes.  They  believed  that  it  was 
in  his  power  to  make  water  burn,  and  trees  dance,  and  to  meta- 
morphose himself  into  a  flame;  that  in  winter  he  could  raise  a 
green  leaf  from  the  ashes  of  a  dry  one,  and  a  living  serpent  from 
the  skin  of  one  that  was  dead." 


80  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XXV. 

And  often  o'er  'Seogee's*  thick-ribbed  ice, 
With  fiercely  howling  wolves,  trained  three  and  three, 
High  seated  on  a  sledge,  made  in  a  trice ; 
Of  bones  and  skins  and  fitly  shapen  tree, 
He  "  rode  sublime,"  and  sung  right  jollily. 
And  once  upon  a  car  of  living  fire, 
The  dreadful  Indian  shook  with  fear  to  see 
The  King  of  Penacook,  his  chief,  his  sire, 
Borne  flaming  up  towards  heaven,  than   any  mountain 
higher. 

XXVI. 

Thus  ever  hath  the  muse  a  mingled  note, 
Such  as  all  places  and  all  times  will  suit. 
In  summer's  winds  her  numbers  gently  float, 
Breathed  soft  as  sound  of  sighing  lover's  lute, 
All  gentleness,  with  stormy  passions  mute. 
But  when  strong  winter  comes  with  maddening  strife, 
Aroused,  she  lays  aside  her  shepherd's  flute, 
And  takes  the  shrilling  trump,  the  martial  fife, 
And  sounds  the  stormy  notes  of  wild,  mysterious  life. 

XXVII. 

Those  youthful  days  are  gone  !     And  with  them  fled 
The  scenes,  the  sports,  that  soothed  my  simple  heart ; 
Yet  still  those  scenes  their  genial  ray  shall  shed, 
To  charm  the  careless  hour,  to  soothe  the  smart 
Of  disappointment's  sting  and  sorrow's  dart. 
Oft  will  I  muse,  and  shed  the  willing  tear, 
O'er  the  loved  plains,  whence  fortune  bade  me  part, 
Recall  the  happy  faces  once  so  dear, 
Recall  the  WINTER  EVE,  and  all  its  social  cheer. 

*  The  Lake  Winnipisseogee  in  Now  Hampshire. 


American    Cottage    life, 


(IV.)       THE    COTTAGE    REVISITED. 

[It  is  well  known,  that  every  year  a  large  number  of  persons, 
especially  from  the  agricultural  class,  leave  the  Northern  States  of 
the  Republic,  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  settlement  in  the  new 
and  more  fertile  lands  of  the  West.  They  seldom,  however,  lose 
that  strong  attachment,  which  they  had  previously  cherished,  for 
the  place  of  their  nativity.  It  is  the  object  of  the  following  Poem, 
to  describe  the  feelings  of  one  of  this  class  of  persons  at  his  return, 
after  many  years,  to  his  father's  house.] 

I. 

WHEN  one  returneth  from  a  distant  land, 
Where  he  hath  been  in  pilgrimage  afar, 
And  seeks  once  more  with  wandering  foot  to  stand 
Beneath  the  brightness  of  his  country's  star, 
It  is  with  beating  heart  and  joyful  eyes, 
He  views  the  long  remembered  scenes  again, 
The  mountains  far,  ascending  to  the  skies, 
The  verdant  hills  more  near,  the  flowering  plain, 
The  willow  shaded  stream,  the  fields  of  golden  grain. 
7 


82  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

II. 

The  cottage  maids  their  spinning-wheel  delay, 
And  from  the  window  look  with  well-pleased  eye ; 
And  gray-haired  men,  that  sit  beside  the  way, 
Arise  to  bless  him,  as  he  passes  by. 
He  finds,  as  round  he  casts  his  gladdened  look, 
The  friendly  "Welcome  Home"  in  every  thing; 
In  ancient  elms,  and  in  the  well-known  brook, 
In  vines,  that  o'er  the  talking  waters  cling, 
And  from  the  singing  birds,  that  clap  the  joyful  wing. 

III. 

I  too  have  been  a  Pilgrim.     On  the  shore 
Of  wide  Ohio  I  had  cast  my  lot ; 
But,  while  I  trimmed  my  vine  and  plucked  my  store, 
My  childhood's  dwelling-place  was  ne'er  forgot. 
I  ever  deemed  the  time  would  come  at  last, 
Though  cast  upon  a  far  and  venturous  track, 
To  take  my  staff,  as  in  the  days  long  past, 
And  to  my  father's  cottage  travel  back, 
Where  yet  he  lives  and  toils,  upon  the  Merrimack.* 

*  This  beautiful  river,  (the  Merrimack,)  one  of  the  principal  in 
New  England,  has  its  rise  among  the  mountains  and  lakes  of  New 
Hampshire,  and  after  a  long  and  winding  course  empties  into  the 
ocean  at  Newburyport,  in  Massachusetts.  Through  its  whole 
length  its  shores  are  occupied  by  a  hardy  and  industrious  people, 
chiefly  of  the  agricultural  class.  The  population  has  become  so 
dense,  however,  that  frequently  the  younger  members  of  families 
find  it  convenient  to  emigrate  to  the  Western  parts  of  the  Union. 
But  here,  as  in  other  similar  instances,  the  residence  of  their  fath- 
ers, on  this  delightful  stream,  is  still  the  home  of  their  hearts. 


THE    COTTAGE    REVISITED.  83 

IV. 

That  time  hath  come.     With  grateful  heart  I  hear 
The  sounding  river  with  its  waters  wide. 
Sweetly  its  heavy  murmur  strikes  mine  ear, 
Borne  through  the  oaks,  that  crown  its  verdant  side. 
The  golden  day  reveals  its  parting  glow ; 
And  where  yon  window,  with  its  flickering  light, 
Dim  through  the  interposing  woods  doth  show, 
That  cluster  round  the  gently  rising  height, 
At  last  my  father's  home  repays  my  straining  sight. 

V. 

The  watchful  dog  patrols  the  narrow  track, 
That  joins  the  household  to  the  public  road ; 
He  barks  aloud,  then  playful  hastens  back, 
As  if  to  guide  me  to  that  loved  abode. 
The  patient  ox  comes  weary  from  the  hill  ; 
The  tinkling  sheep-fold  bell  is  sounding  near ; 
Sudden  I  hear  the  nightly  whippoorwill  ; 
The  cheerful  cottage  window  shines  more  clear ; 
And  mingling  sounds,  well  known,  rejoice  my  wakeful  ear. 

VI. 

And  see  !     What  venerable  form  is  there  ? 
'T  is  he,  my  father's  self  surviving  yet. 
Before  his  cottage  door,  with  temples  bare, 
He  thoughtful  marks  the  sun's  resplendent  set. 
With  beating  heart  his  doubting  eye  I  claimed ; 
He  gave  a  startled,  momentary  view  ; 
But  ere  his  faltering  tongue  his  wanderer  named, 
My  arms,  impatient,  round  his  neck  I  threw, 
Nor  could  the  gushing  tear,  and  voice  of  joy  subdue. 


84  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

VII. 

And  thou,  he  said,  hast  found  me,  ere  I  die ; 
Welcome  to  your  old  father's  arms,  my  son ! 
White  is  my  head,  and  dim  my  aged  eye  ; 
But  thou  hast  cheered  me  ere  my  race  is  run. 
Then  quickly,  with  a  heart  relieved  from  care, 
And  vigorous  step,  he  hastened  on  before; 
His  aged  tresses  swept  the  evening  air ; 
And  as  he  reached  his  hand,  and  oped  the  door, 
He  bade  me  welcome  back,  to  friends  and  home  once  more. 

VIII. 

That  moment  was  beyond  the  Poet's  pen, 
A  moment  of  the  heart,  and  graven  there. 
There  sat  my  father,  most  revered  of  men ; 
There  sat  my  mother  in  her  spacious  chair. 
Bright  beamed  the  fire ;  and  round  its  cheerful  blaze 
Two  little  brothers,  full  of  noisy  joy, 
('T  was  thus  with  me  in  other  distant  days,) 
Recalled  the  time,  when  I  too  was  a  boy, 
And  loved  in  childish  sports  the  moments  to  employ. 

IX. 

And  as  I  scanned  each  object  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  marked  with  care  the  venerable  place, 
In  wall  and  window,  beam  and  sanded  floor, 
The  signs  and  records  of  the  past  I  trace. 
They  seemed  like  old  companions;  and  mine  eyes, 
Like  one  in  search  of  treasures  under  ground, 
Who  sods,  and  rocks,  and  gaping  crevice  tries, 
Renewed  their  searching  glances  round,  and  round, 
Till  all  the  past  revived,  in  mingling  sight  and  sound. 


THE    COTTAGE    REVISITED.  85 

X. 

The  same  capacious  hearth,  expanding  wide, 
The  spacious  kettle  on  its  length  of  crane, 
The  settle,  stationed  at  the  chimney  side, 
Just  as  in  other  times,  they  all  remain, 
Substantial  all,  as  they  were  wont  to  be. 
Affecting  sight !     To  me  they  all  were  dear, 
Since  all  were  consecrate  in  memory. 
The  massy  oaken  chair  is  standing  near ; 
And  pleased,  the  ticking  of  the  eight-day  clock  I  hear. 

XI. 

My  mother  had  unnumbered  things  to  say, 
And,  as  she  spoke,  alternate  wept  and  smiled ; 
Changed  was  her  face,  her  scattered  locks  were  gray, 
But  still  she  loved,  the  same,  her  pilgrim  child. 
Well  pleased  she  saw,  while  often  to  the  heart 
Their  hopeless  blightings  time  and  distance  bring, 
The  love  of  childhood's  home  doth  ne'er  depart, 
But  like  some  flower,  which  blooms  with  endless  spring, 
Repels  the  Autumn's  frost,  the  Winter's  withering. 

XII. 

Slowly  have  passed  the  long,  the  twenty  years, 
Since  first  I  parted  from  this  social  fire  ; 
Sad  was  the  hour,  and  many  were  the  tears, 
But  hope  was  high,  and  strength  of  purpose  higher. 
But  here,  at  last,  I  stand  once  more,  and  find 
Old  objects  faithful  to  their  ancient  place ; 
And  where  the  form  is  changed,  unchanged  the  mind. 
If  lapse  of  years  hath  plucked  some  outward  grace, 
Yet  could  it  not  the  heart,  the  fount  of  love,  displace. 
7* 


86  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XIII. 

But  who  is  this  with  form  so  tall  and  fair, 
A  woman  grown,  and  yet  in  beauty's  prime, 
With  kindling  eye,  and  darkly  flowing  hair  ? 
The  same,  the  cherished  one,  whom  many  a  time, 
I  carried  in  mine  arms,  and  loved  so  much  ; 
Who  went  with  me  o'er  hill  and  ridgy  steep, 
(I  fondly  thought  there  was  no  other  such,) 
To  call  the  cows,  and  tend  the  gentle  sheep, 
And  ever  at  my  side  did,  prattling,  love  to  keep. 

XIV. 

Loved  sister  Mary !     Give  me  one  caress, 
Sacred  to  memory  and  other  years ! 
The  generous  maid  cannot  her  soul  repress, 
But  sought  my  arms,  and  bathed  her  face  in  tears. 
Nor  deem  it  wrong,  if  heaven  may  aught  bestow, 
To  pray  for  blessings  on  that  radiant  head. 
For  me,  alas !  Such  bliss  I  ne'er  shall  know, 
As  when  abroad  her  childish  steps  I  led, 
Amid  the  "  vernal  year,"  or  blooms  that  summer  shed. 

XV. 

Swift  spread  the  news  of  my  unlocked  return, 
And  called  with  busy  haste  the  neighbors  in ; 
They  grasp  my  hand,  and  eagerly  would  learn, 
What  I  have  seen,  and  where  so  long  have  been. 
Some  were  young  girls,  to  woman's  beauty  grown ; 
Some  were  old  men,  who  looked  no  older  now ; 
Some  were  young  lads,  whom  at  the  school  I'd  known, 
But  now,  erect  with  manhood's  ample  brow, 
They  bore  the  sinewy  arm,  that  rules  the  spade  and  plough. 


THE    COTTAGE    REVISITED.  87 

XVI. 

If  they  of  distant  scenes  desired  to  learn, 
And  bent  with  eager  gaze  my  tale  to  hear, 
I  too,  with  heart  as  eager,  asked  in  turn, 
Of  scenes  that  nearer  lay,  but  doubly  dear. 
Full  many  were  the  thoughts,  that  filled  my  mind, 
Of  sylvan  sights,  that  once  delighted  me ; 
Nor  was  the  heartfelt  pleasure  small  to  find, 
Of  hills  and  brooks,  of  fields  and  favorite  tree, 
So  closely  like  the  past,  the  present  history. 

XVII. 

Still  flowed  my  loved,  my  native  stream ;  and  o'er 
Its  solitary  path  hung  arching  still 
The  same  luxuriant  vine.     The  beech  still  bore 
Its  tempting  nuts,  where  I  was  wont  to  fill 
My  eager  hands,  when,  at  the  sun's  decline, 
I  trod  the  vales,  the  errant  flocks  to  call. 
Still  built  the  crow  upon  the  ancient  pine ; 
And  where  the  oak  o'erspread  the  waterfall, 
The  squirrel  watched  his  hoard,  and  kept  his  airy  hall. 

XVIII. 

And  oft  I  asked,  with  sympathy  sincere, 
Who  yet  were  living,  who  had  sunk  to  rest? 
Whom  fortune  in  her  smiles  had  come  to  cheer, 
Or,  deep  in  poverty  and  grief,  depressed? 
Where  were  the  lads,  whose  pleasures  ever  new 
At  early  eve  resounded  long  and  loud  ? 
And  where  the  men,  so  gravely  stern  and  true, 
Strong  in  their  aged  locks,  the  fields  that  ploughed, 
Though  now  perchance  gone  hence,  or  sorrowfully  bowed  ? 


AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 
XIX. 

The  sturdy  miller,  had  he  still  his  jest, 
As  rough  and  honest,  as  in  days  of  yore  1 
And  poor,  decrepid  Jenks,  among  the  rest, 
Did  he  still  beg  his  bread  from  door  to  door  ? 
And  she,  with  scrutinizing  features  old, 
That  sought  into  the  maiden's  palm  to  pry, 
Hath  she  her  last,  prophetic  legend  told? 
Thus  went  inquiry  round,  "  in  converse  high," 
And  heart  leaped  forth  to  heart,  and  kindling  eye  to  eye. 

XX. 

And  now  the  eve  was  far  advanced  and  dim, 
And  closing  round  the  fire,  as  in  my  youth, 
We  reverently  sung  the  Evening  Hymn, 
And  then  my  father  read  the  Word  of  Truth. 
The  sight  of  that  Old  Bible  moved  my  heart, 
And  stirred  anew  the  scarcely  sleeping  tears. 
From  childhood,  till  the  morn  that  saw  me  part, 
I  ever  knew  it,  clasped,  and  dark  with  years, 
At  morn  and  eve  brought  forth,  to  wake  our  hopes  and 
fears. 

XXI. 

And  then  he  offered  up  the  Evening  Prayer, 
Poured  from  a  humble,  reverential  breast ; 
Not  the  mere  show  of  truth  and  love  was  there, 
The  heart  acknowledged  what  the  lips  expressed. 
He  uttered  thanks,  that,  ere  his  days  were  passed, 
He  saw,  save  one  that  mouldered  in  the  earth, 
(Too  bright  that  loved  one's  joyful  beam  to  last,) 
His  scattered  children  gathered  to  his  hearth. 
Thus  God  his  people  loves ;  nor  scorns  their  humble  worth. 


THE    COTTAGE    REVISITED. 

XXII. 

There  are  some  men,  that  make  a  scoff  at  prayer, 
At  early  morn,  or  at  the  close  of  day. 
Ah,  little  do  they  know,  how  grief  and  care 
Before  true  supplication  melt  away. 
How  pleasant  't  is,  when  sorrows  pierce  the  heart, 
To  tell  them  to  our  heavenly  Father's  ear ! 
He  plucks  with  gentle  hand  the  hostile  dart, 
And,  even  when  he  looks  with  frown  severe, 
Is  ever  prompt  to  bend,  his  children's  griefs  to  hear. 

XXIII. 

At  morning's  light  I  held  my  pensive  track 
Where  scattered  elms  and  mourning  willows  grew, 
Along  the  deeply-sounding  Merrimack. 
A  little  hillock  met  my  anxious  view  ; 
'T  was  my  loved  Lucy's  grave,  my  sister's  grave, 
Her  grassy  turf  and  monumental  stone. 
Nought  but  the  sympathizing  woods  and  wave 
Beheld  my  bitter  grief,  and  heard  my  moan  ; 
'T  was  good  to  shed  the  tear  ;  't  was  good  to  be  alone. 

XXIV. 

How  oft  around  the  hearth,  the  eve  before, 
I  cast  my  eyes,  but  saw  no  Lucy  near ; 
She  was  not  named,  lest  naming  should  restore 
The  mournful  memory,  the  bitter  tear. 
She  was  the  sister  next  to  me  in  age. 
Companion  of  my  walks,  with  me  she  took, 
Along  the  hills,  her  summer  pilgrimage, 
Or  climbed  the  rocks,  or  sought  the  shaded  brook, 
That  in  its  mirror  bright  gave  back  her  maiden  look. 


90  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XXV. 

Together  to  the  distant  school  we  went, 
And  when  the  snows  perplexed  the  doubtful  way, 
The  helping  hand  to  guide  her  forth  I  lent, 
Well  pleased  my  skill  and  courage  to  display. 
And  often  with  a  kind  solicitude, 
When  weary  I  returned  from  plough  or  spade, 
She  wiped  my  heated  brow,  arid  brought  my  food, 
And  in  her  smiles  and  sylvan  grace  arrayed, 
More  than  a  brother's  care,  a  brother's  love  repaid. 

XXVI. 

Mary  and  Lucy  !     Those  were  household  names, 
That  messages  to  joyous  fancy  brought, 
And  urged  upon  my  heart  their  sacred  claims, 
Whatever  lands  my  wandering  footsteps  sought. 
They  were  my  only  sisters.     One  is  gone  ; 
And  though  a  sister  lives  to  bless  me  yet, 
That  other  star,  which  o'er  my  pathway  shone, 
Beneath  the  ocean  wave,  its  ray  is  set, 
But  never  shall  this  heart,  this  mourning  heart  forget. 


American   Cottage   Life, 


(V.)       THE   WIDOW    AND    HER    CHILDREN. 


The  Lord  ray  pasture  shall  prepare, 
And  feed  me  with  a  shepherd's  care ; 
His  presence  shall  my  wants  supply, 
And  guard  me  with  a  watchful  eye. 

Addison. 


I. 

DOWN  by  yon  gentle  stream,  whose  curling  flow 
Brightens  beneath  the  hillock's  calm  ascent, 
A  cottage  stands.     Before  its  day  of  woe, 
Flowers  bloomed  around,  and  where  the  forest  sent 
Its  waving  branches  towards  the  firmament, 
Not  distant  far,  were  heard  loud-spoken  joys, 
Which  came,  what  time  the  setting  sun  was  spent 
Beneath  the  gnarled  oak  from  bright-eyed  boys ; 
But  now  the  flower  is  dim,  and  silent  grief  annoys. 


92  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

II. 

Yea,  I  remember  well !     Three  years  are  gone, 
And  it  was  last  of  autumn;  woods  were  sear, 
And  oft  November's  gusty  blasts  came  on, 
Whirling  the  leaves  in  air  with  sport  severe  ; 
'T  was  then  with  sauntering  footsteps  I  drew  near, 
Entering  the  white-washed  walls.     And  all  below 
That  cottage  roof  did  to  mine  eyes  appear, 
Far  from  pollution's  blight  and  touch  of  woe ; 
There,  hearts  with  hope  are  glad,  and  cheeks  with  pleasure 
glow. 

III. 

The  meek-eyed  sheep  grazed  near  the  running  wave  ; 
The  noisy  geese  proud  o'er  her  bosom  rowed ; 
As  mindful  of  the  care  the  farmer  gave, 
Their  annual  gifts  of  wool  his  flock  bestowed  ; 
Slowly  the  cow  returned,  and  loudly  lowed 
To  call  the  maiden  from  the  cottage  door, 
And  yield  into  her  pail  the  milky  load  ; 
The  cow,  the  friend  and  favorite  of  the  poor, 
That  gives  them  great  content,  if  they  have  nothing  more. 

IV. 

The  cottager,  who  wrought  with  arm  not  slack, 
Cheerful,  now  laid  aside  his  axe  and  spade, 
And  from  his  field's  rude  boundary  came  back. 
The  sun  sunk  low,  and  with  the  evening  shade, 
The  day  was  darkly  closed.     Sweet  pause  was  made 
To  toils  with  each  new  morn  returning  still. 
Nor  longer  then  in  prank  and  sport  delayed 
Two  laughing  boys.     They,  whistling  o'er  the  hill, 
Direct  their  footsteps  home,  with  joy  their  cot  to  fill. 


THE  WIDOW  AND  HER  CHILDREN.         93 

V. 

Their  days  were  days  of  labor ;  yet  not  this 
Could  render  them  unhappy.     They  could  see 
Duty  in  toil,  which  changed  that  toil  to  bliss. 
Contented  thus  they  lived.     They  knew,  that  He, 
A  friend  to  the  believing  poor  would  be, 
Who  feeds  the  raven,  gives  the  flower  its  bloom. 
I  looked  around ;  and  in  their  poverty, 
The  marks  of  household  labor  graced  the  room ; 
Here  hung  the  skeins  of  yarn  ;  there  stood  the  wheel  and 
loom. 

VI. 

Kind  family  !     That  ever  warmly  pressed 
Stranger  or  friend,  his  hour  that  with  them  spent, 
Freely  to  share  whatever  they  possessed  • 
Fruits  of  the  wild  and  garden  they  present, 
With  heart  sincere,  no  feigned  sentiment. 
And  happy  in  their  goodness,  smiles  declare, 
Which  pleasure  to  their  dimpled  features  lent, 
That  they  were  well  rewarded  for  their  care, 
When  friend  or  stranger  took  such  as  the  poor  could  spare. 

VII. 

They  were  not  happy  always  !  for  the  storm, 
Which  threatens  all,  hath  beat  upon  the  brow, 
And  brought  unto  the  dust  the  manly  form. 
The  father,  husband,  friend !     Where  is  he  now? 
There  came  a  sickness  on  him,  which  did  bow 
The  vigor  of  his  strength,  and  dim  his  eye. 
Alas !  our  life  is  like  a  flower ;  and  how, 
How  speedily  shall  all  the  living  die. 
And  in  the  common  dust  in  equal  lowness  lie  ! 
8 


H4  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

VIII. 

And  she  most  patiently,  whose  faithful  heart 
Was  bound  to  his  in  wedlock's  sacred  band, 
In  toil  and  watching  showed  the  duteous  part. 
Day  followed  day  :  she  still  was  seen  to  stand 
Beside  his  pillow,  with  assisting  hand. 
But  all  her  tender  arts  could  not  avail 
To  hold  him  from  the  grave's  oblivious  landi 
The  living  went  with  weeping  and  with  wail, 
And  buried  low  his  dust  down  in  the  green-wood  vale. 

IX, 

Nor  this  the  sum  of  sadness  in  her  lot, 
More  desert  still  shall  be  her  lone  abode  ; 
Orphans,  and  poor,  her  children  leave  her  cot, 
Cast  out,  unguided,  on  life's  stormy  road. 
The  evening  hearth,  where  oft  they  gathered,  glowed 
Bright  with  the  blaze  the  burning  logs  dispense. 
Here  were  they  wont  to  meet,  and  friendship  flowed 
Warm  from  each  heart,  and  joy  filled  every  sense  ; 
But  now  their  father's  dead,  and  they  must  hasten  hence. 

X. 

The  flower,  that  graced  their  fields,  no  more  shall  bloom, 
The  vine  shall  droop,  their  art  was  wont  to  raise, 
And  from  their  cottage,  dark  with  grief  and  gloom, 
Be  banished  the  delights  of  former  days. 
But  say,  can  absence  or  can  toil  erase 
The  memory  of  each  dear  scene  and  friend? 
Forgetfulness  may  other  thoughts  displace, 
But  early  days  with  after  life  shall  blend, 
Grow  with  our  memory's  growth,  and  with  our  being  end. 


THE  WIDOW  AND  HER  CHILDREN.          95 
XI. 

Gone  are  the  hours,  when  first  in  youth's  sweet  time, 
With  vagrant  feet  they  wandered  o'er  the  hill ; 
And  when  with  rival  zeal  they  loved  to  climb 
The  rocks,  that  rose  beside  the  noisy  mill, 
Marking  the  fall  of  waters,  and  the  fill 
Of  pleasure  came  into  their  joyful  heart. 
Such  is  our  lot,  of  Providence  the  will  ; 
Oh,  Thou  who  sendest  grief,  support  impart ; 
Protect  the  orphans  all ;  the  orphan's  Friend  thou  art.    ' 

XII. 

The  mourning  daughters  to  the  Factory  went, 
That  rears  on  high  its  massy  stories  tall, 
With  noise  of  many  looms  in  concert  blent, 
And  wheels  that  loudly  dash  within  its  wall, 
Close  on  the  banks  of  darkling  Salmon-Fall. 
Thither  they  walked  on  foot,  and  hand  in  hand  ; 
They  grieved  to  leave  their  mother,  but  their  all 
Consisted  in  some  scanty  roods  of  land, 
And  he  was  gone  who  ploughed ;  they  were  an  orphan 
band. 

XIII. 

One  boy  at  home  the  widowed  mother  kept, 
To  glean  their  little  field,  to  bring  the  wood, 
Piled  in  their  cot  at  eve  before  they  slept, 
And  cheer  with  filial  love  her  solitude. 
The  elder  lad,  more  stout,  in  labor  good, 
O'er  whom  had  passed  the  sixteenth  summer's  beam, 
Sought,  with  a  farmer  near,  a  livelihood, 
With  axe,  and  plough,  and  driving  of  his  team. 
Thus  sadly  early  joys  departed  like  a  dream. 


96  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XIV. 

Ye,  who  have  watched  o'er  guileless  infancy, 
And  kindly  rocked  the  cradle  of  its  rest ; 
Ye,  who  have  borne  it  on  the  patient  knee, 
Nor  less  in  riper  years  have  loved,  carest, 
Than  when  upon  your  knee,  or  on  your  breast, 
Can  fitly  tell,  and  you  alone  can  tell, 
How  sad  the  hour  of  parting !     How  unblest 
The  moment  of  the  long,  the  long  farewell ! 
But  ere  they  left  their  home,  these  parting  accents  fell. 

XV. 

My  loved  ones !  said  the  mother,  (and  the  tear 

Of  sorrow  twinkled  in  her  widowed  eye,) 

Ye  are  my  charge.     It  rests,  my  children  dear, 

On  me  alone.     Ye  saw  your  father  die, 

And  low  and  still  in  dust  his  ashes  lie ; 

We  followed  him  together  to  his  tomb. 

For  you,  my  orphans,  oft  I  heave  the  sigh ; 

For  you  with  anxious  toil  I  urge  the  loom, 

For  you  I  pray  at  morn,  and  at  deep  midnight's  gloom. 

XVI. 

I  see  you  now,  as  in  the  seasons  past, 
Heaven  only  knows  if  we  shall  meet  again  ; 
Great  were  our  joys,  but  they  have  faded  fast ; 
And  yet,  my  children,  we  should  not  complain, 
Nor  aught,  that  comes  in  Providence,  arraign. 
Jehovah  will  our  wants  and  griefs  relieve, 
If  we  our  souls  in  patience  shall  sustain. 
Lifting  your  thoughts  to  him,  ye  shall  receive 
Great  blessings  from  his  hand  j  and  such  he  will  not 
leave. 


THE    WIDOW    AND    HER    CHILDREN.  97 

XVII. 

Thus  spake  the  mother.     Many  tears  did  fall. 
Her  orphan  children  to  their  masters  went. 
The  anxious  parent  bade  them,  one  and  all, 
Be  faithful  in  their  work  and  be  content. 
Oft  little  gifts  her  wanderers  to  her  sent, 
Earned  by  their  daily  toils  ;  for  their  true  heart 
Was  never  from  their  childhood's  dwelling  rent. 
The  elder  brother  learns  the  farmer's  art ; 
In  Salmon-Fall  the  maids  industrious  act  their  part. 

XVIII. 

Ye  farmers  !  see  that  ye,  in  virtue's  school, 
Bring  up  all  those,  who  fall  unto  your  care ; 
Ye  gentlemen,  who  o'er  our  Factories  rule  ! 
Let  the  poor  orphan  in  your  kindness  share ; 
Then  shall  they  serve  you  well,  and  good  prepare 
Both  for  themselves  and  others ;  and  your  name 
Receive  the  good  man's  smile,  the  poor  man's  prayer. 
How  many  thanks  the  virtuous  soul  may  claim  ! 
Such  build  upon  a  rock,  and  are  not  put  to  shame. 
8* 


American   Cottage   Life. 


(VI.)       THE     SNOW-STORM. 

Chill  airs,  and  wintry  winds,  my  ear 
Has  grown  familiar  with  your  song ; 

I  hear  it  in  the  opening  year ; 
I  listen  and  it  cheers  me  long. 

Longfellow. 

I. 

WHEN  feeble  suns  scarce  light  the  wintry  sky, 
And  clouds  are  drifting  in  the  doubtful  air, 
The  pensive  man,  with  expectation  high, 
Forth  to  the  window  moves  his  easy  chair. 
Observant  there,  in  pleased  security, 
Regaling,  as  he  may,  both  eye  and  ear, 
He  marks  the  frozen  brook,  the  withered  tree, 
And  loves,  at  frequent  intervals,  to  hear 
The  howling  of  the  blast,  that  winds  its  summons  drear. 


THE    SNOW-STORM. 
II. 

The  pensive  man,  to  thought  and  feeling  prone, 
Inclined  to  sadness,  but  averse  from  sorrow, 
In  silence  sits,  and  loves  to  be  alone, 
And  joy  from  inward  contemplations  borrow. 
Thus  let  me  muse,  nor  do  thou  deem  it  strange, 
That  it  is  given  the  sense  of  joy  to  find 
From  varying  thoughts  that  unrestricted  range, 
Light  and  unfixed,  as  is  the  stayless  wind, 
Pleased  with  the  present  scene,  and  to  the  future  blind. 

III. 

'T  is  Winter,  in  its  wild  and  angry  mood  ! 
And  as  I  look,  behold,  the  clamorous  crows, 
Scared  by  the  uproar  vast,  in  yonder  wood, 
Regain  a  shelter  from  the  blast  and  snows, 
Where  pines  and  firs  their  thick  protection  yield. 
There  nestle  they  retired,  nor  heed  the  cry 
From  muffled  owl,  in  hollow  trunk  concealed. 
Hid  in  the  twisted  roots,  with  fearful  eye, 
The  wary  fox  beholds  the  tempest  hurrying  by. 

IV. 

Forth  from  the  wood  the  wood-cutter  comes  back  ; 
Upon  his  frosty  beard  the  snow  stands  thick ; 
He  looks  with  peering  eye  to  find  the  track, 
Then  struggles  on  with  panting  breath  and  quick, 
Seeking  his  home.     Anon,  a  traveler's  sleigh 
Goes  swift,  with  bells,  that  chime  their  stifled  din. 
But  he,  who  rides  on  such  a  stormy  day, 
With  aid  of  whip  and  voice,  shall  scarcely  win, 
Seen  dimly  in  the  drifts,  the  distant  village  Inn. 


100  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

V. 

A  refuge  seeking  from  the  surly  winter, 
The  red-breast  comes,  unto  the  window  flying ; 
Well  pleased,  [  haste  to  let  the  stranger  enter, 
And  strive  to  keep  the  little  thing  from  dying. 
See,  how  he  hops  abroad  and  picks  the  bread, 
The  hospitable  hand  of  childhood  brings ; 
Then  pausing,  as  in  thought,  erects  his  head, 
And  glances  quick,  and  trims  his  little  wings, 
And  with  a  sudden  voice  breaks  gladly  forth  and  sings. 

VI. 

Unmindful  of  the  storm,  the  noisy  cur 
Shakes  his  well  powdered  sides,  and  barks,  and  now, 
A  sharer  in  the  elemental  stir, 
With  plunging  head  into  the  drift  doth  plough, 
And  upward  throws  around  the  feathery  snow. 
But  Dobbin !  such  an  hour's  no  sport  for  him. 
With  ruminating  head,  depending  low, 
And  half-shut  eye,  with  gathered  snow-flakes  dim, 
Close  to  the  sheltering  barn,  he  draws  his  quivering  limb. 

VII. 

The  weary  thresher  lays  aside  his  flail, 
And  shuts,  like  one  amazed,  his  granary  door ; 
Nor  else  can  do :  the  winds  his  heaps  assail, 
And  wheat  and  chaff  fly  wildly  round  the  floor. 
The  shades  still  darker  wrap  the  rolling  cloud, 
And  hurtling  snows  come  rushing  still  more  fast ; 
Low  to  the  earth  the  groaning  trees  are  bowed, 
From  rock  and  hill  in  headlong  ruin  cast. 
The  village  steeple  waves  and  trembles  in  the  blast. 


THE    SNOW-STORM.  10 1 

VIII. 

At  such  an  hour  let  none  adventurous  roam. 
Dear  to  the  heart,  at  such  a  time  as  this, 
Is  the  security  and  peace  of  home, 
The  blazing  hearth  and  the  domestic  bliss. 
See,  how  the  traveler  scarce  resists  the  storm ! 
Mark,  how  he  strives  along  with  fainting  feet ! 
And  doomed,  without  the  friendly  welcome  warm, 
To  perish  in  its  freezing  winding-sheet ! 
Then  heap  the  favoring  blaze,  his  weary  steps  to  greet ! 

IX. 

The  sun  sets  now ;  and  yet  no  sun  doth  rest 
Upon  the  mount  its  golden  orb  of  light. 
Dark  clouds  usurp  his  place ;  and  shades  unblest 
And  moaning  sounds  the  startled  air  affright. 
In  yon  lone  cot  the  mother  trims  the  blaze 
That  through  the  window  sends  its  nightly  beam. 
Unmoved  by  fears,  that  older  hearts  amaze, 
Though  fierce  the  snows  invade  each  gaping  seam, 
The  children,  gathering  round,  enclose  its  cheerful  gleam. 

X. 

The  winds  are  rude,  but  they  regard  it  not, 
And  laugh,  as  they  were  wont,  and  prattle  loud; 
Prone  on  the  floor,  unconscious  he  of  aught, 
The  shaggy  dog  with  closing  eye  is  bowed. 
The  cat  doth  in  the  corner  sit  demure ; 
And  as  the  crackling  fire  lights  up  the  room, 
The  housewife  spreads  the  table  of  the  poor, 
Or  plies  with  careful  hand  the  busy  broom, 
Or  doth  her  task  once  more,  her  wonted  wheel  resume. 


102  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XL 

Snug  in  the  corner  doth  her  good  man  sit, 
Nor  ever  from  his  lazy  settle  moves ; 
The  howling  blast  frights  not  his  quiet  wit, 
But  stormy  sounds  and  piping  winds  he  loves. 
He,  philosophic,  chides  at  needless  sorrow, 
Nor  will  he  add  to  real,  fancied  ills. 
But  looks  in  storms  to-day  for  calms  to-morrow. 
Thus  fearful  thoughts  and  low  complaints  he  stills, 
And  ever  and  anon,  his  cheerful  pipe  he  fills. 

XII. 

Happy  the  man,  in  winter's  stormy  hour, 
When  woods  and  plains  with  angry  snows  are  strown, 
Who  is  not  doomed  to  feel  their  hostile  power, 
But  hath  a  shelter  he  can  call  his  own, 
The  cheerful  hearth,  the  amicable  chair. 
He,  with  his  gossip  neighbors  side  by  side, 
Spreads  cheerfully  the  peasant's  homely  fare. 
They  deal  the  mutual  jest.     Then,  venturing  wide, 
With  patriot  zeal  elate,  the  nation's  fate  decide. 

XIII. 

Ah  me !     On  such  a  fearful  time  as  this, 
While  we  around  the  peaceful  hearth  are  safe, 
And  in  the  warmth  and  glow  of  social  bliss, 
Forget  the  winds  against  the  house  that  chafe, 
And  at  the  door  and  windows  threat  in  vain, 
The  seamen  on  the  overwhelming  deep, 
The  tenants  of  the  loud  and  doubtful  main, 
Can  scarce  their  stations  on  the  vessel  keep ; 
See,  how  they  mount  on  high,  then  plunging  down  they 
sweep. 


THE    SNOW-STORM.  JU 

XIV. 

Anon,  a  wave,  with  swift  and  thundering  sway, 
Bears  suddenly  some  sailor  from  the  deck. 
Poor  man !     In  the  illimitable  way, 
That  foaming  spreads  around,  he  seems  a  speck. 
Now  sunk,  now  seen,  now  borne  on  high,  now  low, 
He  smites  the  wave,  like  one  that  strikes  for  life ; 
But  all  in  vain ;  far  downward  doth  he  go ; 
And  as  he  yields  at  length  the  fearful  strife, 
He  dying  thinks  once  more  of  children,  home,  and  wife. 


American    Cottage    Life, 


(VII.)      THANKSGIVING    DAY. 

[It  is  hardly  necessary  to  remark,  that  Thanksgiving  day  is  the 
principal  social  and  religious  festival  in  New  England  and  some 
other  of  the  United  States.  Occurring  at  the  season  of  the  year, 
when  the  heart  naturally  rejoices  in  the  various  exhibitions  of  the 
Divine  goodness,  hallowed  by  early  recollections,  and  by  religious 
influences,  it  is  welcomed  by  all  classes.  Some  of  the  traits  and 
incidents  which  are  characteristic  of  this  interesting  season,  are 
embodied  in  the  following  stanzas.  But  it  may  be  proper  to  keep 
in  mind,  that  we  have  proposed  to  describe  the  humble  and  unpre- 
tending Thanksgiving  of  those  in  rural  life,  rather  than  that  of 
those,  who  move  in  what  are  sometimes  considered  the  more  ele- 
vated circles.] 

I. 

BRIGHT  is  the  early  morn.     With  radiance  clear 
Its  dewy  light  illumes  the  dusky  wood. 
The  neat,  but  humble  mansion  rises  near, 
Embosomed  in  its  leafy  solitude. 
There  doth  the  Farmer,  far  from  public  strife, 
'Mid  sheltered  scenes,  with  sylvan  beauty  strown, 
In  quiet  independence  pass  his  life  ; 
To  want,  and  all  its  bitter  train,  unknown, 
Although  by  toil  he  gains  whate'er  he  calls  his  own. 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  105 

II. 

A  plain  New  England  ploughman ;  true  in  word, 
In  manners  gentle,  open-hearted,  kind. 
But,  though  in  noisy  contest  never  heard, 
He  bears  a  steadfast  and  judicious  mind. 
Soon  as  the  morn  its  journey  doth  renew, 
And  scatters  bright  "  the  rear  of  darkness  thin," 
In  distant  fields  his  hands  their  task  pursue  j 
Nor  less  at  home  the  early  cares  begin 
Of  those  who  milk  the  cows,  and  those  who  gaily  spin. 

III. 

Nor  deem  from  toil  that  he  hath  no  release ; 
'T  is  true,  his  bread  by  watchful  care  is  won ; 
But  with  the  coming  eve  his  labors  cease, 
And  he  is  happy  when  his  work  is  done. 
And  once  a  year  his  brightly  beaming  hearth 
Shines  brighter  yet — upon  Thanksgiving  day. 
Loud  sounds  the  merry  voice  of  childhood's  mirth, 
While  those  of  riper  years,  who  live  away, 
Returning  from  afar,  their  annual  visits  pay. 

IV. 

Behold  !  in  chaise  or  wagon  they  appear, 
Approaching  glad  their  own,  their  native  hill ; 
Where  stands  the  home,  to  early  childhood  dear, 
The  home,  where  deep  affection  lingers  still. 
Once  more,  with  beating  heart,  once  more  they  see 
The  scattered  cottages,  the  pastures  wide, 
The  modest  church,  the  overhanging  tree, 
The  distant  forests,  waving  in  their  pride, 
And  all  to  memory  dear,  to  early  joys  allied. 


106  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE, 

V. 

How  strong  the  charm,  when  early  life  is  new, 
Which  binds  itself  to  each  familiar  scene  ; 
The  humble  school-house  claims  again  their  view, 
Upon  its  solitary  patch  of  green. 
There  were  they  wont  their  childish  skill  to  try. 
The  birch  still  grew  beside  the  aged  door, 
And  thence  the  eager  school-dame,  passing  by, 
Detached  the  rod,  which  awfully  she  bore, 
As  with  laborious  care  she  taught  her  simple  lore. 

VI. 

With  gratulations  oft  and  warm,  they  bless 
Every  loved  object  which  they  recognize. 
The  ancient  orchard  and  its  cider-press, 
And  slow-paced  Dobbin  greet  again  their  eyes. 
They  mark  the  ploughshare  in  the  glebe  it  broke, 
And  as  their  eager  gaze  they  round  bestow, 
They  praise  the  oxen,  parted  from  the  yoke, 
That  graze  the  fields,  as  yet  unclothed  with  snow, 
And  wake  the  echoes  oft,  with  loudly  uttered  low. 

VII. 

And  see,  they  turn  again  with  kindling  eye, 
And  hail  the  towering  oaks  expanding  wide. 
Beneath  those  oaks,  when  evening  gilt  the  sky, 
Full  many  a  feat  of  speed  and  strength  they  tried. 
Nor,  while  their  frequent  glances  they  prolong, 
Do  they  forget  the  stream,  whose  verdant  shore 
Resounded  loud  with  many  a  wild  bird's  song. 
With  lusty  arm  they  swam  its  waves  of  yore, 
Or,  borne  in  well-built  boat,  applied  the  vigorous  oar. 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  107 

VIII. 

The  gray-haired  father  guides  their  steps  around, 
Well  pleased  to  find  that  they  do  not  forget ; 
That  streams,  and  blooming  woods,  and  cultured  ground, 
In  memory's  fadeless  page  are  brightly  set, 
And  still,  as  they  were  wont,  the  soul  can  cheer. 
And  thus  it  is,  that  ever  cherished  well, 
Thanksgiving  day,  to  youth  and  maiden  dear, 
Opes  with  its  golden  key  the  secret  cell, 
Whence  o'er  the  bounding  heart  unnumbered  pleasures 
swell. 

IX. 

To-day,  old  men,  that  erst,  o'ercome  with  fears, 
Low  in  the  chimney  corner  bowed  their  head, 
Are  fired  with  life,  as  in  their  younger  years, 
Throw  down  the  crutch,  and  move  with  sprig-htlier  tread. 
To-day,  the  beggar,  bidding  care  away, 
With  firmer  step  invades  the  farmer's  door, 
And  cheers  himself,  and  sings  his  roundelay, 
As  blest  in  heart,  though  miserably  poor, 
As  if  he  had  a  home,  and  countless  wealth  in  store. 

X. 

Joy  to  the  loved  and  lone  Emilia  too, 
An  orphan,  left  to  grief  and  early  cares. 
She,  at  this  happy  time,  as  wont  to  do, 
With  punctual  visit,  to  her  friends  repairs ; 
And  welcomed  by  the  farmer  and  his  wife, 
With  kindness,  as  befits  a  brother's  child, 
She  deemed  these  hours  the  bright  ones  of  her  life, 
When,  many  a  secret  grief  and  toil  beguiled, 
Her  mourning  heart  was  cheered,  as  all  around  her  smiled. 


108  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XI. 

And  soon  around  the  fire  they  draw  the  chair, 
And  many  a  fond  inquiry  then  is  past : 
What  trials  and  what  griefs  have  been  the  share 
Of  each  since  they  beheld  each  other  last? 
Who  have  been  sick,  and  who  been  doomed  to  die  ? 
Perchance  how  Giles  succeeds  at  his  new  trade  ? 
The  hopes  and  records  of  the  nuptial  tie? 
How  grew  the  corn,  and  how  the  wheaten  blade, 
After  the  havoc  wild  which  the  great  tempest  made  1 

XII. 

The  younger  portion  of  the  family, 
And  those,  who  visit  them,  of  equal  age, 
Pour  forth  the  torrent  of  their  childish  glee ; 
While  others,  older  in  their  pilgrimage, 
The  matrons  sage  and  grandsires  sitting  by, 
Their  sports  with  sympathetic  gladness  view. 
The  scene  brings  back  to  memory's  fruitful  eye 
The  days  when  they  were  young  and  thoughtless  too, 
And  loved  with  busy  zeal  each  pleasure  to  pursue. 

XIII. 

Now  to  the  Public  Worship  all  repair, 
For  not  "  by  bread  alone  "  God's  people  live. 
The  frequent  villagers  are  gathering  there, 
A  portion  from  the  Bible  to  receive, 
And  raise  with  happy  hearts  the  grateful  song. 
When  streams,  that  from  the  rugged  mountains  roll, 
When  rocks  and  hills  the  note  of  praise  prolong, 
Oh,  shall  not  man,  who  ruleth  o'er  the  whole, 
Join  in  the  strain  divine,  and  lift  the  joyous  soul  ? 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  109 

XIV. 

Oh,  't  is  most  true,  that  Nature  hath  a  voice, 
And  her  Creator  given  her  a  tongue ; 
That  through  her  mighty  realms  she  doth  rejoice, 
And  by  her  countless  hosts  his  praise  is  sung. 
The  little  lambs  give  praise  upon  the  hill, 
The  little  birds  upon  the  flowering  tree ; 
The  bright,  uncounted  stars  proclaim  his  will ; 
The  moon,  that  walketh  in  her  majesty  ; 
Thou  boundless,  mighty  God  !     All  nature  's  full  of  Thee. 

XV. 

But  chief  thou  dwellest  with  the  heart  contrite, 
With  such  as  are  of  soul  resigned  and  pure ; 
Far  in  the  lonely  cot  is  thy  delight, 
With  the  believing  and  religious  poor. 
Thou  ever  hearest,  when  thine  aid  they  ask ; 
When  sorrows  throng  them,  Thou  dost  still  befriend ; 
And  lest  in  vain  should  prove  their  daily  task, 
The  gentle  rain  and  sunshine  Thou  dost  send, 
With  greater  goods  in  store,  when  life's  few  days  shall  end. 

XVI. 

And  now  the  massy  tables  are  displayed, 
Where  those  shall  meet,  who  ne'er  may  meet  again 
There  children,  cousins,  neighbors  are  arrayed  ; 
The  cheerful  beggar  helps  to  swell  the  train. 
The  board  well-dressed  is  like  the  driven  snow ; 
To  grace  it  well  the  careful  housewife  tries ; 
White  are  the  plates  in  long  and  decent  row ; 
The  smoking  puddings,  and  the  pumpkin  pies, 
And  roasted  beef,  look  rich  and  goodly  in  her  eyes. 
9* 


110  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XVII. 

Happy  the  man,  who,  when  this  day  comes  round, 
Can  think  on  cellars  stored  and  garners  filled ; 
The  honest  product  of  the  grateful  ground, 
His  own,  and  not  another's  hands  have  tilled. 
He  dreads  nor  duns  nor  sheriffs  at  his  gate, 
Nor  fears  in  aught  the  snares  for  debtors  spread. 
But  with  a  heart  serene,  a  step  elate, 
Goes  forth,  the  sovereign  of  his  rural  shed, 
Yet  never  doth  forget  the  Giver  of  his  bread. 

XVIII. 

To  Him  what  reasons  there  exist  for  praise ! 
How  many  motives  to  a  virtuous  course ! 
The  tide  of  good  hath  reached  us  all  our  days, 
Full  in  its  stream,  exhaustless  in  its  source. 
Our  cows  and  cornfields  give  us  milk  and  meal ; 
Our  barns  well-filled,  nor  small  the  cellar's  store; 
Loud  sounds  at  eve  the  merry  spinning-wheel 
And  when,  perchance,  the  wintry  storm  sweeps  o'er, 
We  have  our  own  bright  hearth.     What  could  we  wish 
for  more  ? 

XIX. 

Once  't  was  not  so.     In  years,  when  he  was  young, 
The  farmer  tells  of  griefs,  that  are  not  now. 
The  husbandmen,  with  muskets  o'er  them  slung, 
In  danger  and  in  watching  held  the  plough. 
Sadly  and  slow  the  fearful  moments  sped, 
For  savage  men,  athirst  for  blood,  were  nigh, 
And  when  at  eve  they  bowed  the  weary  head, 
They  knew  not,  but  ere  morn  the  warwhoop's  cry 
Would  reach  their  lowly  roof,  and  call  them  out  to  die. 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  Ill 

XX. 

But  now  contentment  beams  in  every  face ; 
Peace  in  our  dwellings,  and  stern  war  afar ; 
Ne'er  may  it  leave  again  its  deadly  trace, 
And  ne'er  again  the  scene  of  quiet  mar. 
Instead  of  spears  the  fruitful  share  we  guide ; 
Instead  of  swords  the  pruning-hook  we  wield ; 
Beneath  our  own  dear  roof,  the  hearth  beside, 
Come,  let  us  scan  the  claims  of  hill  and  field, 
And  learn  what  fits  the  sheep,  and  where  the  grain  doth 
yield. 

XXI. 

And  thus  to  friendly  converse  they  incline ; 
The  farmer  tells  the  time  to  plough  and  sow  ; 
While  others  speak  of  pastures,  sheep,  and  kine, 
Of  summer's  suns,  or  winter's  drifting  snow ; 
The  matrons  grave  discourse  of  loom  and  dairy; 
Apart,  the  hardy  youth,  as  well  they  might, 
Bend,  listening,  to  the  songs  of  blue-eyed  Mary. 
"  The  Beggar  had  his  jest,"  and  with  delight 
The  rapid  hours  passed  by,  till  sunset's  golden  flight. 

XXII. 

The  quiet  eve  hath  come ;  the  evening  star 
Renews  his  bright,  but  solitary  beam ; 
The  moon,  ascending  in  her  silver  car, 
Again  diffuses  o'er  the  earth  her  gleam. 
And  now,  before  they  seek  the  pillow's  rest, 
The  song,  the  mirth,  and  conversation's  din 
Give  place  to  household  worship,  season  blest. 
The  good  old  man  doth  read  the  Word  Divine, 
And  all,  with  reverent  hearts,  in  supplication  join. 


112  AMERICAN    COTTAGE    LIFE. 

XXIII. 

There  was  divine  enchantment  in  his  prayer ; 
His  soul  was  touched,  as  if  with  heavenly  fire. 
He,  who  in  worldly  things  did  hardly  dare 
To  lift  his  thoughts  and  conversation  higher, 
Than  the  poor  marks  of  earth,  and  place,  and  time, 
His  fields  and  herds,  his  fences  and  his  plough, 
Finds  fitting  words,  and  many  a  thought  sublime, 
Whene'er  in  holy  worship  he  doth  bow, 
And  at  Jehovah's  throne  his  hope  and  faith  avow. 

XXIV. 

He  giveth  thanks,  that,  though  another  year 
Hath  rolled  away  to  dark  eternity, 
So  many  of  them  live ;  so  many  here, 
Beneath  his  roof,  each  other's  faces  see, 
But  she,  who  graced  the  last  Thanksgiving  day, 
The  child  beloved,  the  daughter  of  his  heart, 
His  Sarah,  is  no  more.     And  he  doth  pray, 
Though  sudden  was  the  blow,  and  keen  the  smart, 
That  they  may  humbly  show  submission's  quiet  part. 

XXV. 

He  pleadeth  for  himself,  his  children,  wife, 
His  supplication  is,  whate'er  their  lot, 
That  in  the  duties  and  the  griefs  of  life, 
Their  great  Creator  ne'er  may  be  forgot. 
He  prays  for  one  upon  the  ocean  tost, 
For  Joseph  on  the  wide  and  boundless  sea, 
Where  many  a  helpless  sailor  lad  is  lost, 
That  in  Jehovah's  favor  he  may  be, 
And  with  glad  eyes  again  his  native  country  see. 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  113 

XXVI. 

And  then  his  mind  to  other  themes  awake, 
Which  by  the  Christian  volume  have  been  taught, 
A  higher  and  a  nobler  flight  doth  take, 
And  up  to  heavenly  mansions  lifts  its  thought ; 
Upon  celestial  hills  his  soul  doth  stand. 
There  shine  the  angel  ranks,  supremely  bright, 
With  starry  crowns,  and  happy  harps  in  hand  ; 
And  there  in  those  abodes  of  blessed  delight, 
When  sinks  the  world  in  fire,  shall  all  Christ's  friends 
unite. 


Ballads   and   Songs. 


DEATH    OF    COLONEL    HAYNE. 

[Colonel  Isaac  Hayne,  of  South  Carolina,  was  a  valuable  and 
distinguished  officer  of  the  Revolution.  He  was  taken  prisoner  by 
the  British,  under  the  command  of  Lord  Rawdon ;  and  though 
great  interest  was  made  in  his  behalf,  both  by  Englishmen  and 
Americans,  he  was  executed  as  a  Rebel.  His  wife  had  died  but  a 
short  time  before.  His  eldest  son,  a  boy  of  thirteen,  was  permitted 
to  stay  with  his  father  in  the  prison  ;  but  he  was  so  shocked  and 
overcome  at  the  execution  as  to  become  insane.  See  the  Life  of 
Marion  and  Thacher's  Military  Journal.] 

I. 

SADLY  and  slow  the  mourners  came 

Through  Charleston's  streets,  with  bleeding  heart ; 
And  breathed  their  hate  on  Rawdon's  name, 

Who  acted  such  a  cruel  part. 

Lord  Rawdon  came  from  England  Old, 

Renowned  for  skill  and  courage  true ; 
And  oft  in  onset  fierce  and  bold, 

Americans  his  vengeance  knew. 


DEATH  OF  COLONEL  HAYNE.  115 

The  fearless  Hayne  was  one  of  those, 

Whom  in  the  field  of  death  he  took, 
Where  bands  with  bands  in  battle  close, 

And  spear  to  spear  defiance  shook. 

Soon  as  the  captured  Hayne  drew  near, 
Lord  Rawdon  looked  with  scornful  eye, 

And  said,  thou  rebel,  thou  art  here, 
Upon  the  gallows'  tree  to  die. 

Then  Colonel  Hayne  with  boldness  said, 

It  matters  not,  my  Lord,  to  me ; 
I  'd  rather  mingle  with  the  dead, 

Than  slave  to  any  man  to  be. 

The  feeble  body  thou  canst  bind, 

And  draw  the  life-blood  from  the  vein ; 

But  there's  defiance  in  the  mind, 

The  bounding  spirit  knows  no  chain. 

Lord  Rawdon  shook  his  plumage  high, 
And  half  unsheathed  his  angry  sword ; 

And  swore  in  wrath,  thou  soon  shalt  die, 
If  there  is  truth  in  Rawdon's  word. 

If  men  will  not  their  king  obey, 

But  set  themselves  against  his  power, 
Their  life  itself  the  crime  shall  pay, 

And  they  shall  rue  the  'venging  hour. 

Again  the  soldier  answer  made, 

And  said,  it  matters  not  to  me ; 
Of  foul  dishonor  I  'm  afraid, 

But  fear  not  death,  my  Lord,  nor  thee. 


116  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

I'd  rather  be  the  sightless  mole, 
And  in  the  dust  and  ashes  mine ; 

Than  stoop  to  tyranny's  control, 
Or  ever  bend  to  thee  or  thine. 


II. 


Down  in  a  dungeon's  dark  retreat 
The  brave  American  was  cast; 

And  round  his  hands,  and  round  his  feet, 
Were  made  the  links  of  iron  fast. 

And  with  him  there  his  eldest  boy, 
An  inmate  of  the  cell  remained ; 

His  father  viewed  him  once  with  joy, 
But  now  the  sight  his  bosom  pained. 

For  well  he  knew  what  deep  distress, 
In  this  dark  world  of  sin  and  strife, 

Too  oft  befalls  the  fatherless, 
Thrown  early  on  the  sea  of  life. 

The  boy  clung  round  his  father's  neck  ; 

It  was  a  time  his  love  to  try ; 
He  wept,  as  though  his  heart  would  break, 

And  said,  his  father  must  not  die. 

I  saw,  said  he,  the  winding  sheet, 
That  robed  my  mother's  pallid  clay; 

I  saw  the  men,  with  slow-paced  feet, 
That  sadly  bore  her  far  away. 


DEATH    OF    COLONEL    HAYNE.  117 

And  as  the  bell,  with  heavy  tongue, 
Filled  with  her  death  the  listening  air, 

Deep  to  my  heart  its  accents  rung, 
And  moved  anew  the  anguish  there. 

With  faltering  tongue,  before  she  died, 

She  said,  "  My  Charles,  I  leave  you,  dear !  " 

And  as  she  spoke,  she  strove  to  hide 
The  grief,  that  shone  in  many  a  tear. 

"  I  leave  you,  (and  may  God  be  kind,) 
With  one,  a  constant  friend  who  '11  be ; 

Charles !   in  your  father  you  will  find 
A  friend,  as  he  has  been  to  me." 

That  mother,  to  my  infant  sight, 

Far  back  as  memory's  step  can  trace, 

Rose,  like  an  angel,  clothed  in  light, 
And  shone  o'er  all  my  early  race. 

But  she  hath  gone;  her  light  hath  fled; 

And  can  her  parting  words  be  true, 
If  you  shall  seek  that  narrow  bed, 

And  I  must  bid  farewell  to  you. 

Around  his  father's  veteran  neck, 

He  threw  his  little  arms  again ; 
While,  trickling  o'er  his  youthful  cheek, 

The  tears  his  faded  beauty  stain. 

My  child,  my  child !  said  Colonel  Hayne, 

Think  not,  I  do  not  deeply  feel ; 
Thy  griefs  are  like  the  clanking  chain, 

And  pierce  me,  as  the  foeman's  steel. 
10 


118  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

But  when  our  griefs  and  duty  meet, 
There  is  one  course  for  me,  for  all ; 

To  trample  sorrow  under  feet, 
And  stand  erect  at  honor's  call. 

But  there  is  One,  who  knows  our  need, 
Nor  claims  what  man  cannot  fulfill ; 

'T  is  ours  his  Providence  to  read, 
And  bow  submissive  to  his  will. 

Repose,  my  child,  your  hopes  in  God, 
Make  him  your  counsellor  and  friend J 

He  blesses,  when  he  lifts  the  rod, 
And  oft  in  good  our  troubles  end. 

And  while  on  Him  for  aid  you  call, 
Fear  not,  but  all  your  strength  renew; 

For  there  are  others  yet  so  small, 
That  they  must  look  for  help  to  you. 

Yet  scarcely  old  enough  to  know, 

That  they  nor  father  have  nor  mother, 

Watch  over  them,  and  ever  show 
The  care,  the  kindness  of  a  brother. 


m 

Two  coursers  at  the  dungeon  meet, 
And  black  were  they  as  raven's  wing ; 

They  smite  the  earth  with  pawing  feet, 
And  high  the  dust  around  them  fling. 


DEATH    OF    COLONEL    HAYNE.  119 

And  from  the  grates,  the  iron  grates, 
The  brave  American  looked  through ; 

And  on  those  steeds,  the  coal-black  mates, 
The  ministers  of  vengeance  knew. 

To  friends  and  foes  farewell  he  bade, 
Who  mourned  alike  o'er  one  so  brave ; 

Upon  his  son  his  hand  he  laid, 
And  sad  his  parting  blessing  gave. 

Then  blew  the  trumpet  loud  and  long, 

Then  wide  the  dungeon  doors  were  flung; 

And  Colonel  Hayne  went  through  the  throng, 
Upon  the  gallows  to  be  hung. 

The  steeds  pressed  heavily  the  ground, 
The  soldiers  marched  with  solemn  tread ; 

The  trumpets  pealed  their  thrilling  sound, 
The  muffled  drums  beat  dull  and  dread. 

But  Colonel  Hayne  showed  no  dismay, 
No  panic  blanched  his  manly  cheek ; 

Though  multitudes,  that  thronged  his  way, 
In  sighs  and  tears  their  sorrows  speak. 

Unmoved,  he  reached  the  place  of  death ; 

Unmoved,  he  trod  the  scaffold  high; 
For  life  he  knew  was  useless  breath 

Without  the  sweets  of  liberty. 

But  ere  he  died,  the  heart-felt  prayer, 

Poured  for  his  native  land,  he  gave, 
That  God  would  shield  her  with  his  care, 

And  in  the  hour  of  darkness  save. 


120  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

'T  is  done !     He  gives  his  last  embrace, 
And,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 

He,  who  was  swift  in  freedom's  race, 
Hung  black  and  moveless  in  the  sky. 


IV. 

I  marked  a  boy  pass  through  the  street, 
With  garments  rude,  dishevelled  hair  ; 

He  walked  the  earth  with  wandering  feet, 
And  with  a  wild  and  maniac  air. 

He  said  but  little ;  oft  he  stood, 

When  gained  the  sun  his  noon-day  height, 
And  fixed,  when  in  his  frantic  mood, 

Upon  its  beams,  his  staring  sight. 

I  asked  what  I  his  name  should  call, 
And  how  that  one,  so  young  as  he, 

So  early  in  his  life  should  fall 
To  such  extreme  of  misery. 

Alas !  he  was  his  father's  pride, 
Nor  less  he  loved  that  father  well ; 

He  saw  him  when  he,  struggling,  died  ; 
He  shrieked,  and  tottering  reason  fell. 

And  from  that  dark,  distracting  day, 
Wild  horrors  in  his  bosom  reign ; 

His  face  is  marked  with  sad  dismay ; 
'T  is  Charles,  the  son  of  Colonel  Hayne. 


DEATH    OF    COLONEL    HAYNE.  121 

V. 

These  are  thy  fearful  scenes,  oh  War ! 

These  are  the  trophies  thou  dost  bring ; 
How  many  pleasures  thou  dost  mar ! 

How  many  bosoms  thou  dost  wring ! 

The  son  and  father  thou  dost  sever, 
The  husband  from  the  wife  dost  part ; 

And  sendest  wretchedness  forever 
O'er  ruined  home  and  bleeding  heart. 

10* 


Ballads   and   Sonss, 


DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  WILLEY  FAMILY. 

[Some  years  since  there  resided  in  the  Pass  of  the  White 
Mountains  in  New  Hampshire,  about  two  miles  from  the  eel. 
ebrated  place  called  the  Notch,  a  solitary  but  interesting  and  re- 
spectable family.  On  the  night  of  August  26,  1826,  a  night  ren- 
dered memorable  by  a  violent  storm,  which  may  be  said  in  hun- 
dreds of  places  to  have  rent  the  mountains  from  top  to  bottom,  the 
whole  of  this  family  were  destroyed,  viz :  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willey, 
\rith  their  five  children,  Eliza  Ann,  Jeremiah,  Martha,  Elbridge, 
and  Sarah,  together  with  two  hired  men.  The  particulars  of  this 
mournful  event  may  be  found  in  the  N.  H.  Historical  Collections.] 

ELI/A  ANN,  AgedtwelwycMt. 

MOTHER  !     The  clouds  are  on  the  vale  ; 

The  frightened  cattle  homeward  run  ; 
The  trees  are  breaking  in  the  gale, 

And  red  and  angry  looks  the  sun. 

THE    MOTHER. 

Hush,  hush,  my  child  !     What  do  they  know, 

The  gentle  cows  and  simple  sheep  ! 
Shall  not  the  winds  of  summer  blow, 

And  clouds  along  the  forest   sweep? 


DESTRUCTION    OF    THE    WILLEY    FAMILY.  123 

Come  in,  and  do  not  yield  to  fears. 

How  oft  we've  heard  the  tempest's  voice, 
When  't  was  but  music  to  our  ears, 

And  made  our  bounding  hearts  rejoice. 

Then  thou  wouldst  at  the  window  stand, 

And  with  no  fear  upon  thy  brow, 
Behold  the  waves  o'erwhelm  the  land, 

The  rocks  roll  down,  the  forests  bow. 


ELBRIDGE,  The  yoangest  «on,  scren yearn  of  age. 

Say,  mother,  will  the  mountains  move  ! 

We  saw  them  move  the  other  day ; 
Vast  piles  of  earth  did  march  along, 

And  all  before  them  swept  away. 

How  beautiful  the  trees  did  look. 

With  nodding  leaf  and  blossom  bright, 
As  in  their  vast  array  they  took 

E'en  from  the  mountain's  top  their  flight. 

But  it  was  terrible  to  see, 

When  in  their  strength  they  came  so  near 
And  to  thine  arms  we  all  did  flee, 

To  shield  and  save  us  in  our  fear. 


THE  MOTHER. 

Oh,  talk  not  thus,  too  fearful  child ! 

'T  is  time  to  seek  repose  and  sleep ; 
Is  there  not  One,  who  rules  the  storm, 

Whose  love  supports,  whose  arm  can  keep  ? 


124  BALLADS  AND  SONGS. 

See,  how  unconscious  Sarah  sleeps ; 

No  fears  disturb  her  quiet  mind  ; 
There's  faith  and  strength  in  innocence, 

In  aught  beside  we  fail  to  find. 

The  reeling  earth  awakes  her  not, 
Nor  howling  winds  disturb  her  soul ; 

She  heeds  not,  when  the  lightnings  flash, 
Nor  when  the  troubled  thunders  roll. 


JEREMIAH,  Eleven  yean  of  age. 

But  yesterday  the  Saco  bore 
Its  waters  scarce  above  my  feet ; 

But  now,  from  all  the  mountain  sides, 
The  torrents  in  its  channel  meet. 

And  swollen,  with  resistless  force, 
*    It  whirls  and  boils  and  hurries  on, 
And  on  its  angry  wave  the  trees, 

And  logs,  and  crumbling  banks  are  borne. 

And,  sad  to  tell,  two  little  lambs 
That  frolicked  on  its  grassy  shore, 

Were  overtaken  by  its  waves, 

And  swept  away,  and  seen  no  more. 

They  were  the  lambs  that  Martha  loved, 
With  which  we  all  were  wont  to  play  ; 

I  heard  their  faint  and  mournful  bleat, 
As  they  were  rudely  swept  away. 


DESTRUCTION    OP    THE    WILLEY    FAMILY.  125 

N1CHOSON,    Hired  man. 

The  angry  bear  hath  left  his  cave, 

The  frightened  wolf  is  howling  loud  ; 
The  eagle,  from  his  rocky  crag, 

Screams  fiercely  to  the  passing  cloud. 

Sad  night  is  this  !     The  traveler, 

Who  through  the  mountains  makes  his  way, 

Will  sink  beneath  the  thunder  stroke, 
And  low  his  head  in  sorrow  lay. 

How  blest  are  they  that  have  a  home, 
To  shield  from  storms  descending  fast ; 

Hark  !     Heard  ye  not  the  breaking  pines  1 
And  heard  ye  not  the  whirlwind's  blast  ? 


THE  FATHER. 

When  in  the  wondrous  times  of  old, 
The  Lord  to  Sinai's  mountain  came, 

Upon  the  mighty  winds  he  flew, 

And  underneath  him  clouds  and  flame. 

Our  God  is  on  the  mountains  now ; 

The  lofty  summits  feel  his  tread  ; 
Before  his  steps  the  forests  bow, 

The  rivers  swell  above  their  bed. 

His  creatures  now  are  in  His  hands, 
To  be  by  Him  sustained  or  lost, 

Like  mariners  upon  the  sea, 

In  bellowing  storm  and  tempest  tost. 


126  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 


ALLEN,  Another  hired  man. 


The  fires  flash  down  the  mountain's  side ; 

The  rocks  rebound  from  tree  to  tree ; 
The  earth  is  heaving  far  and  wide, 

Ah,  whither,  whither  shall  we  flee ! 


THE    FATHER. 

There  's  neither  time  nor  power  to  flee, 
But  't  is  a  time  to  watch  and  pray ; 

If  here  we  meet  our  destiny, 
'T  is  well  as  any  other  way. 

If  life  is  o'er,  't  is  good  and  right, 
God  only  knows  the  when  and  where 

'T  is  best  to  quench  our  earthly  light, 
And  bid  us  to  Himself  repair, 

In  God  alone  I  put  my  trust ; 

Beneath  His  wing  I  take  my  stand : 
And  though  I  am  a  worm  of  dust, 

I  feel  His  omnipresent  hand. 

Then  let  us  all  our  hearts  prepare, 
The  holy  Word  of  God  to  read; 

And, offer  up  the  evening  prayer 
To  Him,  who  aids  us  at  our  need. 

THE    PRAYER. 

Oh,  Thou,  where  eye  can  see  Thee  not, 
Thy  dwelling-place  in  heaven  who  makest, 

The  humble  heart  is  ne'er  forgot, 

Thy  praying  ones  Thou  ne'er  forsakest. 


DESTRUCTION    OP   THE    W1LLEY    FAMILY.  127 

Thine  eye  runs  forth  from  place  to  place, 

The  darkness  as  the  light  surveying, 
Regarding  all  that  Thou  hast  made, 

And  every  where  thy  love  displaying. 

To  Thee  the  beasts  apply  for  food ; 

The  birds  receive  Thy  constant  care, 
As  in  the  pathless  woods  they  roam, 

Or  o'er  the  boundless  fields  of  air. 

And  we,  thy  children,  look  to  Thee ; 

No  other  friend  nor  hope  we  know ; 
Thy  hand  doth  hold  our  destiny, 

And  at  Thy  feet  we  lay  us  low. 

We  hear  Thee  in  the  rending  rocks ; 

We  hear  Thee  in  the  thunder's  noise. 
And  shall  we  not  in  mercy  hear 

Thee  speaking  in  the  still,  small  voice? 

Oh,  send  that  voice,  in  mercy  send, 
And  bid  our  fears  and  troubles  cease; 

Whate'er  may  come,  oh,  may  we  feel 
Submission,  trust  in  God,  and  peace. 


PART    SECOND. 

'T  WAS  thus  in  converse  they  did  spend 
With  gleams  of  hope  and  mingling  fears, 

Their  last  sad  evening  here  on  earth, 

And  poured  their  prayers  and  shed  their  tears. 


128  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

They  felt  their  weakness,  but  they  felt, 
That  God  is  merciful  and  just, 

And  when  around  their  hearth  they  knelt, 
Had  higher  hope  and  firmer  trust. 

'T  was  theirs,  whate'er  might  be  his  will, 
To  bear  an  acquiescent  breast, 

To  bow  before  Him  and  be  still, 

With  faith  awake  and  doubt  supprest. 

They  heard  the  elemental  roar, 
As  moved  the  heavy  hours  along, 

They  heard  the  dashing  torrents  pour, 
But  knew  that  God  can  ne'er  do  wrong. 

The  moon  was  shut  that  darksome  night, 
No  star  looked  forth  upon  the  sky  ; 

But  riding  on  the  thunder's  wing, 
A  tenfold  gloom  came  sweeping  by. 

The  rocks  from  mount  to  mountain  leaped, 
From  rock  to  rock  the  waters  dashed, 

High  voices  mingled  with  the  wind, 

And  answered  when  the  thunder  crashed. 

Nor  did  the  awful  mountains  stand, 
Firm  and  unmoved  as  wont  to  be ; 

But  raised  their  scathed  and  smitten  heads, 
And  from  their  ancient  seats  did  flee. 

'T  was  like  the  great,  the  awful  day, 
When  the  archangel's  trump  shall  blow, 

And  piercing  far,  shall  find  its  way 
To  heights  above,  and  depths  below. 


DESTRUCTION    OF    THE    WILLEY    FAMILY.  129 

The  mountains  moved,  but  when  they  left 
With  rocks  and  woods  their  old  retreat, 

They  did  not  cease  to  think  of  those, 
Their  lovely  children  at  their  feet. 

Whom  they  had  in  their  bosom  nursed, 
As  they  had  nursed  the  beast  and  bird ; 

Whose  feet  were  like  the  mountain  deer, 
Whose  song  e'en  to  their  tops  was  heard. 

But  fleeing,  wheeled  their  course  around 

The  cot  where  they  did  erst  reside, 
And  passed  it  by  untouched  and  sound; 

But  overwhelmed  all  else  beside,* 

Alas !     Their  children  were  not  there. 

Sons  of  the  mountain  !     They  had  gone  ; 
And  passing  in  the  mountain's  track, 

Were  in  its  footsteps  overthrown. 

Husband  and  wife  and  little  one, 

Father  and  child  and  hired  man, 
Not  one  survived ;  but  in  one  grave 

Did  close  their  life's  diminished  span. 

Thus  terribly  they  all  did  die ; 

'T  was  thus  mid  storms  and  rending  earth, 
This  lovely  mountain  family 

Returned  to  Him,  who  gave  them  birth. 

*  It  is  a  most  remarkable  circumstance,  that  when  the  falling 
portion  of  the  mountain  approached  the  house,  where  the  "Willey 
family  dwelt,  it  divided  a  few  rods  back  of  it,  and  going  round  on 
both  sides,  left  it  untouched. 
11 


130  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

He  took  them,  as  in  days  of  old, 
In  ancient  days  his  loved  he  took ; 

Such  as  the  saint,  "  who  walked  with  God," 
Such  as  the  Seer  of  Chehth's  brook. 

For  when  the  earth  Elijah  left, 

'T  was  not  as  when  one  goes  to  sleep ; 

But  blazing  fires  the  heavens  cleft, 

And  whirlwinds  o'er  the  earth  did  sweep. 

The  whirlwind  wrapt  him  in  its  wing, 
The  flaming  fires  around  him  curled, 

And  swift  and  upward  did  they  bring 
The  Prophet  to  a  better  world. 


Ballads  and  Songs, 


YANKO,  THE  NOBLE  NEGRO. 

[The  incidents,  which  are  the  foundation  of  the  following  stan- 
zas,  are  matters  of  fact,  and  not  mere  poetical  fiction.  A  few 
years  since,  two  children  were  left  by  an  English  gentlemen  on 
board  a  vessel,  in  the  care  of  a  Negro,  who  belonged  to  his  family. 
His  object  in  leaving  them  was  merely  to  make  a  short  visit  to 
another  vessel,  in  the  expectation  of  returning  very  soon.  In  the 
mean  time  a  storm  arose,  and  the  vessel,  in  which  the  children 
were,  was  wrecked.  The  children,  however,  were  saved  through 
the  disinterested  kindness  of  the  Negro,  who  in  order  that 
room  might  be  made  for  them  in  the  boat,  which  conveyed  the 
survivors,  willingly  and  cheerfully  remained  on  the  wreck,  and 
perished.  Some  notices  of  this  affecting  story  may  be  found  in 
Roberta's  Memoirs  of  Miss  Hannah  Moore.] 

I. 

THE    FATHER. 

YANKO  !     We  leave  the  ship  to-day  : 

We  give  our  children  to  your  care ; 
While  o'er  the  sea's  unruffled  way 

To  yonder  vessel  we  repair. 


132  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

See  how  she  strikes  the  gazer's  eye, 
With  towering  mast  and  canvas  wide ! 

I  know  her  gallant  company ; 

One  hour  will  bring  us  to  her  side. 

And  though  the  feast  and  song  may  flow, 
As  there  our  early  friends  we  hail, 

The  sunset  with  its  parting  glow 
Shall  brighten  our  returning  sail. 

THE    MOTHER. 

Yanko  !     To  my  loved  boys  be  kind  ; 

My  thread  of  life  to  their's  is  bound ; 
If  they  should  suffer,  I  should  find, 

In  my  own  soul,  the  rankling  wound. 

They  long  thy  faithfulness  have  known ; 

We  only  ask  thee  now  to  prove, 
What  thou  in  other  times  hast  shown, 

That  thou  dost  hold  them  in  thy  love. 

Our  boat  will  urge  its  joyful  track 
Over  the  sea's  unruffled  plain ; 

But  soon  to  speed  its  journey  back, 
And  bring  us  to  the  boys  again. 

THE  CHILDREN. 

Oh,  mother,  yield  not  thus  to  fear, 
When  we  are  absent  from  your  view ; 

The  hours,  with  faithful  Yanko  near, 
With  sport  and  joy  are  ever  new. 


YANKO,  THE  NOBLE  NEGEO.  133 

Around  the  ship  he  guides  our  feet, 

And  shows  the  mast,  the  ropes,  the  sail ; 

Or,  seeking  out  some  quiet  seat, 
Relates  the  sailor's  wondrous  tale. 


THE    NEGRO. 

Master  and  Mistress !     I  will  take 
Care  of  my  little  masters  here ; 

If  they  were  hurt,  my  heart  would  break ; 
I  love  them  too ;  ye  need  not  fear. 

I  feel  their  sorrows,  arid  am  sad, 

If  but  a  swelling  tear  I  see ; 
And  not  a  pleasure  makes  them  glad, 

But  brings  its  happiness  to  me. 

I  will  not  say  what  I  would  do, 

To  save  them  from  the  slightest  smart ; 
Fearless  I  make  appeal  to  you ; 

They  have  their  image  in  my  heart. 

II. 

'T  was  thus  the  parting  parents  sought 
The  noble  ship,  that  waiting  lay  ; 

And  as  they  joyful  went,  they  thought, 
Ere  long  to  urge  their  homeward  way. 

Some  natural  fears  disturbed  their  mind  ; 

But  still  they  knew  the  Negro's  heart ; 
And  doubted  not,  that  one  so  kind 

Would  act  the  honorable  part. 
11* 


134  BALLADS  AND    SONGS. 

Meantime  a  sudden  storm  arose, 

And  wrapped  the  sea  in  deepest  black  ; 

In  foaming  piles  the  ocean  flows, 

And  lightnings  cleave  their  angry  track. 

The  vessel,  which  so  late  they  left, 
Was  dashed  in  fierceness  to  and  fro ; 

Until  of  sail  and  mast  bereft^ 
She  settled  gradually  low. 

Then  there  were  shrieks  and  agony ; 

The  boat  was  hoisted ;  in  it  fast 
The  striving  crew  plunged  hastily, 

And  Yanko  and  the  boys  came  last. 

And  what  was  rending  to  the  heart, 
The  boatmen  hesitate  to  take  them  ; 

And  make  all  ready  to  depart, 

And  to  the  raging  sea  forsake  them. 

The  children,  at  the  Negro's  side, 
Looked  up  to  see  what  he  would  do, 

And  in  the  tear  he  could  not  hide 
The  fullness  of  his  friendship  knew. 

For  then  he  felt  the  inward  strife, 

The  grief  which  generous  bosoms  feel, 

And  gladly  would  have  yielded  life, 
To  save  the  boys  he  loved  so  well. 

The  boatmen  eagerly  he  prayed, 
That  they  the  little  boys  would  take, 

And  save  them  in  their  youth  arrayed, 
And  save  them  for  their  parent's  sake. 


YANKO,  THE  NOBLE  NEGRO.  135 

III. 

Then  rose  the  master  of  the  boat, 

Which  scarce  sustained  the  whelming  tide. 

And  grief  his  hardy  bosom  smote, 
As  thus  to  Yanko  he  replied. 

Whate'er  I  can  I  '11  gladly  do, 

But  if  they  enter,  it  will  be, 
That  then  no  place  will  be  for  you, 

And  you  must  perish  in  the  sea. 

Well,  Yanko  said,  it  matters  not  ; 

No  worthless  fear  my  breast  annoys ; 
On  such  as  I  ne'er  spend  a  thought ; 

Let  Yanko  perish  ;  take  the  boys. 

To  them  shall  life  its  joys  unfold ; 

The  parent  heart  is  bound  to  their's  ; 
But  Yanko,  when  in  death  he's  cold, 

Has  none  his  destiny  that  shares. 

He  spoke,  and  placed  within  the  boat 
The  children  to  his  charge  consigned ; 

The  little  bark  was  soon  afloat, 
But  noble  Yanko  staid  behind. 

The  boys  for  sorrow  could  not  speak, 

But  tears  and  sobs  their  anguish  tell, 
As  Yanko,  on  the  sinking  deck, 

Repeated  loud  his  long  farewell. 

The  Negro  stood  alone.  His  eye 
Raised  upward  to  the  Lord  of  light ; 


136  BALLADS  AND  SONGS. 

The  world's  last  look  was  passing  by, 
And  vast  Eternity  in  sight. 

'T  was  but  a  moment,     Quick  the  wave 
Rushed  deeply  o'er  its  sinking  prize ; 

And  swept  his  body  to   its  grave, 
And  gave  his  spirit  to  the  skies. 

IV. 

This  is  the  story  sad  but  true, 
Showing  a  negro's  noble  feeling. 

Reader  !     It  has  a  word  for  you, 
Unto  your  sympathies  appealing. 

There  are  some  men,  who  scorning  say, 
The  negroes  are  a  lower  race. 

Did  Yanko's  generous  deed  betray 
A  lower,  an  ignoble  place  ? 

Where'er  the  sun  the  world  doth  bless, 
Is  there  a  white  man,  that  doth  bear 

A  soul,  with  which  in  nobleness 

Poor  Yanko's  heart  will  not  compare  ? 

Judge  not  of  virtue  by  a  name, 
Nor  think  to  read  it  on  the  skin  ; 

Honor  in  black  and  white  's  the  same, 
The  stamp  of  glory  is  within. 

Whate'er  his  color,  man  is  man, 
A  negro's  heart  like  any  other; 

And  Heaven,  in  its  capacious  plan, 
Bids  us  to  treat  him  as  a  brother. 


Ballads   and    Songs, 


THE    FROZEN    FAMILY    OF    ILLINOIS. 

[A  few  years  since,  in  the  state  of  Illinois,  a  man,  his  wife,  and 
three  children,  were  frozen  to  death,  in  attempting  to  cross  a 
Prairie  in  the  winter.  They  were  found  dead,  and  their  sleigh 
broken  in  pieces ;  apparently  with  the  intention  of  making  a  fire. 
As  the  precise  facts  of  their  sufferings  and  death  are  unknown, 
they  must  be  left  to  be  realized  by  the  imagination ;  but  we  are 
safe  in  saying  that  the  highest  efforts  of  the  imagination  would 
find  it  difficult  to  exaggerate  them.] 

IN  the  lone  land  of  Illinois, 

A  man,  and  wife,  and  children  three, 

Set  out  with  hearts  alive  with  joy, 

Some  loved,  but  distant  friends  to  see. 

Their  journey  o'er  a  Prairie  lay, 

That  stretched  afar,  some  ten  miles  broad , 

The  horses  drew  the  well-built  sleigh, 
They  glided  swiftly  on  their  road. 

When  on  their  journey  they  set  out, 
They  had  no  grief,  they  had  no  fear ; 

They  saw  the  sun-light  on  their  route, 

Nor  dreamt,  that  grief  and  woe  were  near. 


138  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

And  much  they  smiled,  and  much  they  talked 

Of  their  anticipated  meeting, 
When  round  the  hearth  of  relatives, 

They  should  receive  the  friendly  greeting. 

They  had  not  traveled  far,  before 

The  sun  was  shut,  the  winds  did  blow, 

The  road's  dim  track  was  covered  o'er, 
And  thickly  fell  the  driven  snow. 

Missing  the  road,  they  turned  aside 
Upon  the  Prairie's  woodless  plain, 

And  wandered  far  and  wandered  wide, 
And  sought,  but  came  not  right  again. 

The  man  with  zeal  his  horses  drove  ; 

'T  was  all  a  circuit  round  and  round; 
With  nought  of  guiding  track  or  sign, 

They  wandered  o'er  the  self-same  ground. 

Already  hours  and  hours  were  past, 
A  dark  and  dreadful  night  at  hand  ; 

And  they  were  like  poor  sailors,  cast, 
Without  a  compass,  far  from  land. 

The  sun  was  dark,  the  winds  did  blow, 
And  they  had  used  all  earthly  skill  ; 

But  still  they  wandered  in  the  snow, 
They  lingered  in  the  Prairie  still. 

And  it  was  piercing  cold  beside, 

No  friendly  face,  no  house  was  near, 

To  welcome  from  the  trackless  snow, 
And  at  its  hearth  their  hearts  to  cheer. 


THE    FROZEN    FAMILY    OF    ILLINOIS.  139 

'T  was  then,  alas,  they  sadly  hear 

The  moan  of  grief  from  Emma  rise  ; 
And  see  their  only  daughter  dear 

Freezing  to  death  before  their  eyes. 

She  knew  her  parents  could  not  help, 

She  did  not  wish  to  give  them  grief; 
And  thus  in  silence  bore  each  pang, 

Till  she  was  frozen  past  relief. 

Her  limbs  were  lifeless  one  by  one, 

Her  countenance  to  marble  grew  ; 
Staring  and  wild  her  lovely  eye, 

Pallid  and  blank  her  blooming  hue. 

She,  whom  they  loved  with  deepest  love, 
In  childhood  whom  they  fondly  bore, 

Sunk  down  the  parents'  face  to  see, 
The  parents'  voice  to  hear  no  more. 

What  could  they  do !  where  could  they  go ! 

If  there  they  stopped,  they  perished  there; 
The  wearied  horses  through  the  snow 

Their  burden  scarce  could  longer  bear. 

Still  strove  they  forward,  labored  on, 
With  their  dead  daughter  in  the  sleigh, 

Though  grief  was  deep,  and  hope  was  gone, 
And  darkness  gathered  on  their  way. 

One  of  the  horses  failed  ;  the  drift 

His  breast  encircled ;  o'er  it  rose 
His  struggling  hoof,  but  all  in  vain ; 

He  stopped  imbedded  in  the  snows. 


140  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

Death-struck,  he  stiffened  as  he  stood  ; 

With  mane  erect  and  nostril  wide, 
And  curving  neck  and  head  upraised, 

Thus  in  his  agony  he  died. 

And  there  they  stood  fast  bound  together, 
One,  frozen,  motionless,  and  dead; 

But  wild  and  restless  was  the  other, 

And  smote  his  hoofs,  and  heaved  his  head. 

Until  his  wearied  strength  gave  way, 
And  then,  as  of  his  fate  aware, 

He  breathed  his  life  and  agony 
In  one  shrill  cry  upon  the  air. 

The  father  saw,  that  all  was  gone, 

And  yet  suppressed  his  words  and  fears  ; 

His  noble  boy  he  called  upon, 

From  whose  bright  eye  rolled  silent  tears. 

Their  sleigh  they  into  fragments  broke, 
And  from  its  splintered  portions  sought 

With  smitten  steel  to  make  a  fire, 
But  all  their  pains  availed  them  not 

Still  howled  the  storm,  and  still  the  snow 
Came  driven  fiercely  through  the  air; 

No  further  had  they  power  to  go, 

To  live  they  could  not,  where  they  were. 

And  now  the  mother  and  the  wife, 

With  fears  o'ercome  and  piercing  cold, 

Began  to  feel  the  ebb  of  life, 

And  on  the  earth  to  loose  her  hold. 


THE    FROZEN    FAMILY    OF    ILLINOIS.  141 

She  had  a  loved,  an  infant  child ; 

She  dropped  upon  its  face  a  tear ; 
The  babe  looked  gently  up  and  smiled, 

And  felt,  though  wrapped  in  storms,  no  fear. 

Strange  images  were  at  her  heart, 

Sad  thoughts  her  mind  did  occupy; 
That  she  was  summoned  thus  to  part, 

And  in  this  dreadful  way  to  die. 

And  yet  she  chid  her  murmuring  soul, 
And  strove  her  rebel  thoughts  to  quell ; 

And  as  she  bade  a  last  adieu, 

She  gently  breathed  out,  All  is  well. 

And  then  the  boy  was  quite  o'ercome 
At  this  new  stroke,  so  full  of  sorrow ; 

His  failing  voice  and  strength  give  signs, 
That  he  with  her  shall  see  no  morrow. 

No  tear  was  shed,  no  word  was  spoken, 

He  fell  down  at  his  mother's  side ; 
The  spring  was  dry,  the  heart  was  broken, 

He  closed  his  beaming  eye  and  died. 

The  father  now  was  left  alone, 

Save  that  his  babe  was  yet  alive, 
He  took  it  fondly  in  his  arms, 

And  onward  through  the  drifts  did  strive. 

One  mighty  effort  he  put  forth, 

(Despair  gave  momentary  power,) 
And  plunged,  and  sunk,  and  struggled  on, 

But  soon  he  found  his  strength  was  o'er. 
12 


142  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

Some  little  way  he  forced  his  track, 
But  now  't  was  fruitless  all  and  vain ; 

And  with  a  starting  tear  turned  back, 
And  looked  upon  his  wife  again. 

He  lived  to  see  his  babe  expire ; 

And  then  he  placed  them  side  by  side  ; 
And  kneeling  o'er  them  in  his  grief, 

Poured  out  his  broken  prayer,  and  died. 


CONCLUSION. 

This  is  indeed  a  varied  scene, 

With  joys  and  griefs  together  thrown ; 

We  may  be  what  we  have  not  been, 
What  is  before  us  is  not  known. 

To-day  our  sun  is  pure  and  bright, 
To-morrow  he  goes  darkly  down, 

And  they,  who  triumphed  in  his  light, 
Now  weep  and  wither  in  his  frown. 

'T  is  God's  to  do  as  he  sees  fit ; 

To  raise  us  up  or  lay  us  low ; 
'T  is  ours  to  worship  and  submit, 

And  bless  the  hand  that  gives  the  blow. 

For  though  we  cannot  see  it  here, 
Why  we  are  called  in  grief  to  dwell ; 

The  time  will  come,  when  't  will  appear, 
That  all  was  ordered  right  and  well. 


DARK-ROLLING    CONNECTICUT.  143 


DARK-ROLLING    CONNECTICUT. 
I. 

OH,  tell  me  no  more  of  the  blisses  prevailing 

In  the  canopied  halls  of  the  noble  and  great ; 
Oh,  tell  me  no  more  of  the  joys  never-failing, 

That  are  deemed  at  the  feet  of  the  wealthy  to  wait ; 
For  dearer  than  riches  or  power,  are  the  mountains, 

The  hills  and  the  vales,  to  remembrance  allied  ; 
The  murmuring  of  winds,  and  the  rushing  of  fountains, 

That  haste  to  Connecticut's  dark-rolling  tide. 

II. 

Dark-rolling  Connecticut !     Oft  I  remember 

The  days  and  the  years,  that  I  spent  on  thy  shore, 
And  the  tribute  of  tear-drops  unconsciously  render, 

When  thinking  those  days  shall  be  present  no  more. 
I  walked  by  the  side  of  thy  waves  darkly  flowing, 

And  loud  was  the  wild-bird,  that  sung  in  the  trees  ; 
On  thy  green  summer  borders,  the  flowret  was  blowing, 

And  health  from  the  mountains  came  borne  on  the 
breeze. 

III. 

Though  a  dream  of  the  past,  still  't  is  fruitful  of  pleasure, 

To  remember,  when  nature  had  gone  to  decay, 
And  the  forests  were  mantled  in  winter's  white  treasure, 

How  pleasantly  passed  the  long  evenings  away. 
Around  the  blithe  hearth,  that  was  cheerfully  gleaming, 

Drew  the  circle,  where  beauty  and  wit  held  their  reign, 
With  soft  sayings  and  smiles  the  day's  hardships  redeeming, 

Ah,  never  to  soothe  the  sad  spirit  again. 


144  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

IV. 

Remembrance  the  joy  of  those  moments  shall  cherish, 

Though  quickly  they  faded,  though  long  they  have  past, 
Nor  e'er  from  the  depths  of  my  heart  shall  they  perish, 

As  long  as  a  throb  in  that  bosom  shall  last. 
And  I  think,  for  we  all  must  be  summoned  to  part, 

'T  would  soften  its  anguish,  my  head  could  I  pillow, 
When  life,  like  a  vision,  shall  fade  from  my  heart, 

By  the  side  of  Connecticut's  dark-rolling  billow. 


THE    CLOSING    YEAR. 

IN  the  glad  days  of  summer  the  lily  and  rose, 

The  delight  of  the  garden,  were  fragrant  and  bright  ; 

But  their  bloom  and  their  fragrance  have  come  to  a  close, 
And  another  short  year  hath  betaken  to  flight. 

'T  is  a  few  days  ago,  when  I  walked  out  one  morn, 
As  the  sun  was  just  rising  above  the  green  hill ; 

The  pear-tree  was  laden,  the  flower  hid  the  thorn, 
And  sweet  was  the  murmuring  voice  of  the  rill. 

The  thrush  and  the  linnet  were  joyous  and  gay, 
The  lark  sweetly  sung  from  his  tent  in  the  sky, 

From  the  hazel's  retreat  burst  the  black-bird  away, 
And  the  fields  seemed  in  music  and  beauty  to  vie. 

But  now  the  fair  landscape  hath  lost  its  delight, 
The  earth  is  all  barren,  the  trees  are  all  bare, 

The  forest  indeed  wears  a  mantle  of  white, 

But  the  voices,  that  cheered  it,  no  longer  are  there. 


THE    SICK    CHILD.  145 

Wherever  I  look,  there  are  signs  of  decay, 
I  hear  the  winds  whistle  unjoyous  and  drear, 

The  rills  through  the  ice  urge  their  desolate  way, 
And  blighting  and  grief  mark  the  death  of  the  year. 

Still  the  sun  shall  return  and  his  lamp  shall  be  nigh, 
And  the  trees  that  are  naked  and  torn  by  the  blast, 

Be  again  green  as  ever,  and  rich  in  his  eye, 
But  the  year  of  our  life  is  the  first  and  the  last. 

Our  lamp  shall  wax  dim,  and  our  sun  shall  retire, 
And  our  bodies  return  to  the  dust  of  their  birth  ; 

Oh,  who  shall  rekindle  that  lustreless  fire, 

And  its  beauty  restore  to  that  mouldering  earth? 

A  sun  that's  eternal  shall  burst  on  the  tomb, 

And  commence  a  new  year  to  the  good  and  the  wise ; 

His  rays  their  dark  prison  shall  pierce  and  relume, 
And  sprinkle  with  splendor  their  path  to  the  skies. 


THE    SICK    CHILD. 

THE  sweat  is  standing  on  her  brow, 
The  tear  is  beaming  in  her  eye, 

She  doth  not  clasp  her  father  now, 
As  in  the  happy  days  gone  by. 

Borne  in  her  cradle  of  distress, 

From  morn  to  evening  doth  she  lay ; 

Her  little  arms  are  powerless, 

She  hath  no  strength  to  run  or  play. 
12* 


146  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

The  color  fadeth  from  her  cheek, 
Her  bird-like  voice  is  waning  low ; 

The  lovely  one,  how  kind  and  meek ! 
What  patience  in  her  hour  of  woe ! 

Oh,  could  I  once  but  hear  her  voice 
Speak  out,  as  it  was  used  to  do, 

How  would  my  spirits  then  rejoice, 

With  that  gay  pleasure  once  they  knew ! 

Out  in  the  garden  she  would  go, 
And  play  among  the  tender  flowers ; 

And  birds  would  sing  around  her  so, 
As  if  to  win  her  to  their  bowers. 

But  now  the  sweat  is  on  her  brow, 
The  tear  is  beaming  in  her  eye; 

Passed  are  the  sports  and  music  now, 
That  cheered  us  in  the  times  gone  by. 


THE    WOUNDED    BIRD. 

POOR,  wounded  bird  !  my  bosom  aches  for  thee, 
As  I  thy  torn  and  bleeding  form  behold. 
Wide  in  the  sky  no  more  thou  shalt  unfold 

Thy  wings,  exulting  in  their  liberty. 

It  was  but  yester  morn,  I  saw  thee  blest ; 

I  marked  thy  plumage  gay  and  heard  thee  sing, 
And  watched  thee  upward  on  thy  early  wing, 

Before  the  sunbeam  found  thy  dewy  nest. 


THE    HUNTERS.  147 

Thou  wast  a  tenant  of  the  boundless  air; 
Thy  song,  at  coming  morn,  rejoicing  loud, 
Thrilled  from  the  bosom  of  the  golden  cloud, 

And  thou  didst  lodge  in  light  and  beauty  there. 

Poor  bird !  I  would  that  I  could  bring  relief, 
And  call  thee  back  to  joys  and  songs  again ; 
But  that  can  never  be ;  these  tears  are  vain ; 

And  thou  shalt  bow  thy  head  in  early  grief. 

I  see  thy  heaving  heart  with  throbs  dilate  ; 

I  mark  the  shadows  of  thy  closing  eye  ; 

Yes,  thou  art  fallen  low,  but  shalt  not  die, 
Without  a  friend  to  mourn  thy  cruel  fate. 


THE    HUNTERS. 

THE  moon  hath  bowed  her  orb  of  light, 
And  here  we  '11  rest,  till  morn  is  bright ; 
The  mountain  deer  were  swift  to-day, 
And  far  have  led  our  feet  astray. 

The  cottage  fire  is  out ;  afar 
The  watch-dog  bays  the  lingering  star ; 
Upon  the  mount  springs  up  the  deer, 
And  lifts  his  antlered  head  to  hear. 

But  he  shall  rest  again  his  eye 
Beside  the  brook,  that  murmurs  by ; 
And  lose  in  dreams  and  soft  repose 
The  sense  of  weariness  and  woes. 


148  BALLADS  AND  SONGS. 

The  Hunters  too  shall  sink  to  sleep, 
With  burning  pines  their  watch  to  keep ; 
While  far  and  near  the  wakeful  trees 
Make  music  in  the  nightly  breeze. 

But  soon  again  the  sun  shall  fling 
The  daylight  from  his  golden  wing; 
And  hills,  and  woods,  and  waters  far, 
Resound  with  horn  and  sylvan  war. 


JT  IS  MANY  A  YEAR. 

'T  is  many  a  year,  since  first  1  drew 

Your  airs,  ye  hills,  with  panting  breast  : 
And  on  your  rocks  the  loud  halloo 

With  voice  and  waving  arm  exprest. 
Your  rugged  steeps  I  loved  to  climb, 

And  thence  with  eager  eye  survey, 
When  seated  on  their  brow  sublime, 

The  fields  and  farmhouse  far  away. 
'T  is  many  a  year. 

Those  years  I  wish  would  come  again, 

Those  distant  times  I  oft  recall ; 
Alas  !     My  youthful  joys  are  slain  ; 

I  say,  as  silent  tear-drops  fall, 
Where  are  the  days,  when  down  your  side 

The  little  sled,  that  bore  me  swift, 
At  winter  eve  I  loved  to  guide 

O  'er  icy  steep  and  frozen  drift  ? 
'T  is  many  a  year. 


WHEN    THE  CHERUB  OF    MERCY.  149 

Old  men  have  died,  since  I  was  young  ; 

Young  men  have  into  manhood  grown. 
It  is  not  now,  as  when  I  sung 

Upon  those  distant  hills  alone, 
And  called  upon  the  rocks  to  hear, 

And  called  upon  the  trees  around, 
And  rocks,  and  trees,  and  waters  near 

Echoed  me  back  their  joyful  sound. 
JT  is  many  a  year. 


WHEN  THE  CHERUB  OF  MERCY. 

WHEN  the  cherub  of  mercy  to  Heaven  recalls  us. 

And  waves  his  white  hand  from  the  bright  fields  above, 
The  thought  most  afflicting,  and  most  that  appalls  us, 

Is  leaving  the  fond  ones  behind  that  we  love : 
Each  throb  of  affection  and  bliss  to  extinguish, 

From  the  bosom,  cannot  but  elicit  the  sigh ; 
However  all  else  we  would  gladly  relinquish, 

For  the  fields  and  the  river  of  life  in  the  sky. 

But  happier  the  fate  that  befell  the  two  lovers, 

Who  fondly  embracing  on  death  calmly  smiled, 
When  they  sunk,  where  the  foam  of  the  dark  billow  hovers 

O'er  the  grave,that  with  sea-flowers  is  blooming  and  wild. 
Oh,  they  ne'er  from  each  other's  endearments  were  parted, 

For  the  angel,  who  came  in  his  gleaming  array, 
Could  not,  in  his  mercy,  leave  one  broken-hearted, 

And  summoned  them  both  to  be  the  bright  realms  of  day. 


150  BALLDS  AND  SONGS, 


THE  LANDSCAPE. 

I  CLIMBED  the  rude  hills,  at  the  closing  of  day, 
And  lingered  delighted,  while  bright  to  my  view 

Was  the  landscape  below  me,  at  distance  that  lay, 
And  oped  its  wild  beauties  transporting  and  new. 

The  smoke  from  the  cottage  was  curling  beneath, 
The  cottage  half-hid  in  the  trees  from  mine  eye ; 

While  the  clouds  caught,  in  many  a  silvery  wreath, 
The  gleams,  that  were  purest  and  brightest  of  dye. 

The  wild  birds  were  talking  in  leaf  and  in  nest ; 

The  brook  sung  aloud  with  its  music  divine  ; 
And  far  in  the  vale,  that  sloped  down  to  the  West, 

Was  the  bleating  of  sheep  and  the  lowing  of  kine. 

'T  was  lonely  and  rugged,  the  place  where  I  stood, 
But  pleasures  came  over  my  heart  in  a  throng ; 

The  shout  from  the  huntsman  arose  from  the  wood, 
And  I  heard  in  the  distance  the  shepherd-boy's  song. 


SING  THAT  SONG  AGAIN. 

OH,  lady  !     Sing  that  song  again, 

I  '11  sadly  linger  by ; 
I  've  heard  it,  on  my  native  plain, 
It  then  was  able  to  unchain 
Emotions  high. 


SONG  OF  THE    PILGRIMS.  151 

In  youth  I  heard  it,  till  the  tears 

Fast  o'er  my  cheeks  have  stole ; 
For  loves,  and  joys,  and  hopes,  and  fears 
Could  in  those  young  and  buoyant  years 
The  mind  control. 

And  when  I  hear  thee,  lady,  sing, 

Though  far  those  times  are  gone ; 
It  seems,  as  if  each  joyous  thing, 

More  brightly  waving  memory's  wing, 
Came  flying  on. 

I  see  once  more  my  native  vale, 

Its  birds  once  more  I  hear  ; 
And  when  the  evening  shades  prevail, 

The  oft-told,  legendary  tale 
Arrests  mine  ear. 

Oh,  yes !     'T  is  sweet  thy  voice  to  hear, 

And  memory's  dreams  are  sweet ; 
And  yet  it  wrings  the  bitter  tear, 

To  think,  what  youthful  friends  I  ne'er 
Again  shall  greet. 


SONG  OF  THE    PILGRIMS. 

THE  breeze  has  swelled  the  whitening  sail, 
The  blue  waves  curl  beneath  the  gale, 
And,  bounding  with  the  wave  and  wind, 
We  leave  Old  England's  shores  behind  ; 
Leave  behind  our  native  shore, 
Homes,  and  all  we  loved  before. 


152  BALLADS  AND    SONGS. 

The  deep  may  dash,  the  winds  may  blow, 
The  storm  spread  out  its  wings  of  wo, 
Till  sailors'  eyes  can  see  a  shroud 
Hung  in  the  folds  of  every  cloud ; 
Still,  as  long  as  life  shall  last, 
From  that  shore  we  '11  speed  us  fast. 

For  we  would  rather  never  be, 
Than  dwell  where  mind  cannot  be  free  ; 
But  bows  beneath  a  despot's  rod 
E'en  where  it  seeks  to  worship  God. 

Blasts  of  heaven,  onward  sweep  ! 

Bear  us  o'er  the  troubled  deep  ! 

O,  see  what  wonders  meet  our  eyes  ! 

Another  land,  and  other  skies ! 

Columbian  hills  have  met  our  view  ; 

Adieu  !     Old  England's  shores,  adieu  ! 
Here,  at  length,  our  feet  shall  rest, 
Hearts  be  free,  and  homes  be  blessed. 

As  long  as  yonder  firs  shall  spread 
Their  green  arms  o'er  the  mountain's  head  ; 
As  long  as  yonder  cliffs  shall  stand, 
Where  join  the  ocean  and  the  land ; 

Shall  those  cliffs  and  mountains  be 

Proud  retreats  for  liberty. 

Now  to  the  King  of  kings  we  '11  raise 
The  psean  loud  of  sacred  praise ; 
More  loud  than  sounds  the  swelling  breeze 
More  loud  than  speak  the  rolling  seas ! 

Happier  lands  have  met  our  view  ! 

England  's  shores,  adieu  !  adieu  ! 


THE  DAUGHTERS  OP  THE  SUN.          153 


THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  THE  SUN. 

[Between  the  Flint  and  Oakmulge  rivers,  within  the  limits  of  the 
State  of  Georgia,  is  a  vast  marsh,  which  in  the  wel  season  is  filled 
with  water,  and  has  the  appearance  of  a  lake.  Here  are  a  number 
of  large  islands  or  knolls  of  rich  high  land,  one  of  which  the  Creek 
Indians,  that  formerly  resided  in  the  vicinity,  were  in  the  habit  of 
representing  as  the  most  blissful  spot  on  earth ;  inhabited  by  a  pe- 
culiar race  of  Indians,  whose  women  were  remarkable  for  their 
beneficence,  as  well  as  their  incomparable  beauty.  They  called 
them  the  Daughters  of  the  Sun. — SeeBartram's  Travels,  p.  25.] 

OH,  their's  is  the  lonely  Isle  of  flowers, 
And  at  morning  arid  eve  though  laurel  groves, 

The  voice  of  music  is  heard  in  their  bowers, 
And  the  wild  deer  listens,  that  thither  roves. 

The  dew-drops  of  heaven  their  radiance  fling, 
O'er  the  breathing  woods,  that  brightly  smile ; 

And  the  blooming  cest  of  an  endless  spring 
Is  shining  around  that  happy  Isle. 

No  sorrow  their  radiant  cheeks  to  shade, 

Their  hands  and  their  hearts  are  fondly  one ; 

And  the  notes,  by  their  fairy  fingers  played, 
In  mingling  tides  of  rapture  run. 

And  never  the  white  dove  sailing  by, 
Nor  the  star  of  evening's  pensive  reign, 

With  those  hearts  of  light  and  love  could  vie, 
The  bosoms  undimmed  by  folly's  stain. 
13 


154  BALLADS  AND  SONGS, 


THE  BOWER. 

THE  bower  you   taught  for  me  to  bloom, 
As  bright  will  shed  its  tints  and  perfume, 
As  if  the  hand,  that  decked  it,  were  there, 
Its  hues  and  its  balmy  breath  to  share. 

The  warbler,  whose  sweet,  entrancing  strain 
Sunk  deep  in  the  heart,  till  joy  grew  pain, 
Will  utter  his  notes  as  soft  and  clear, 
As  when  we  both  were  lingering  near. 

But  the  brightest  array  of  nature's  dress, 
Though  floating  in  light  and  loveliness, 
Has  never  worn  half  so  bright  a  hue, 
As  when  we  both  her  witchery  knew. 

And  the  music  at  evening's  pensive  hour, 
That  hallows  our  dew-besprinkled  bower, 
Has  never  beguiled  a  tear  from  me, 
Which  memory  did  not  gild  for  Thee. 


THE  DESERTED  ISLAND. 


FROM  our  lovely  retreat,  when  forever  we  part, 
Where  smile  answered  smile,  and  where  heart  beat  to  heart 
Oh,  how  often  and  fondly,  though  far  we  may  be, 
Will  we  think,  thou  blest  Isle,  of  each  other  and  thee. 


THE  EXILE'S  SONG.  155 

We  gazed  on  the  waters.     How  gently  they  threw, 
To  the  sands  that  embrace  thee,  their  circles  of  blue  ; 
Then  passed  they  to  ocean,  nor  thought  to  delay; 
So  embraced  we  each  other,  and  so  haste  away. 

Though  the  flowers  of  thy  borders  grow  faded  and  sear, 
Though  the  waves  that  caress  thee  so  soon  disappear ; 
In  souls  like  thy  waters  unruffled  and  pure, 
The  love,  that  we  cherished,  shall  always  endure. 

Oh,  the  noon  of  our  gladness,  how  soon  't  is  o'ercast ! 
Adieu,  ye  enchantments,  too  lovely  to  last ; 
We'll  go  from  the  haunts  where  the  blue  billows  roll, 
But  the  Isle  and  its  waters  shall  live  in  the  soul. 


THE   EXILE  S  SONG. 

I  WOULD  that  I  could  sing  the  song, 
I  sung  beneath  my  native  sky ; 

But  something  tells  me  't  would  be  wrong 
That  note  of  joy  again  to  try. 

When  winter  comes,  we  list  in  vain 
To  hear  the  merry  birds  of  June ; 

Then  ask  me  not  to  breathe  the  strain, 
Until  the  spirit  is  in  tune. 

For  now,  a  wanderer  far  away, 
Another  stream  and  vales  I  view  ; 

And  if  I  poured  the  joyful  lay, 

My  heart  would  answer,  't  is  not  true. 


156  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

No  lover  sings  the  song  of  bliss, 

When  from  his  bosom's  mate  lie  's  parted 

The  exile's  soul,  no  less  than  his, 

Is  lone,  and  sad,  and  broken-hearted. 

Oh,  when  I  breathe  my  native  air, 
And  tread  once  more  my  native  plain  ; 

Then  shaft  my  heart  its  joy  repair, 
My  tongue  repeat  its  song  again. 


WHEN  AUTUMN'S  STAR  WAS  BRIGHTLY  BEAMING. 

I. 
WHEN  autumn's  star  was  brightly  beaming 

And  shed  on  earth  its  silver  ray  ; 
When  autumn's  sky  was  redly  gleaming 

With  the  last  fires  of  parting  day; 
Upon  a  cliff,  that  proudly  blended 

Its  flinty  bosom,  frowning  high, 

With  crimson-tinted  clouds  and  sky, 
Swiftly  a  virgin  form  ascended. 

'T  was  Freedom's  self  that  rose, 

And  how  her  bright  eye  glows, 
As  warning  sound,  around,  around, 

With  voice  divine  she  throws. 

II. 

"  Columbia's  sons !     Your  fathers  firing, 
The  flame  of  freedom  in  them  grew1  ; 

Against  oppression's  chains  conspiring, 
They  fought,  but  not  alone  for  you. 


WHEN  AUTUMN'S  STAR,  &c.  157 

Their  brilliant  names  are  shrined  in  story ; 

But  you,  (a  shame  to  them  and  me,) 

Who  crush  the  black  man's  liberty, 
Have  done  dishonor  to  their  glory. 

My  heart  the  man  disdains, 

Who  freedom's  cause  maintains, 
But  yet  doth  hold,  for  lust  of  gold, 

His  fellow-man  in  chains. 

III. 

"  My  children  dwell  in  every  nation, 

I  hear  their  voice  where'er  they  call ; 
I  heed  not  color,  rank,  or  station ; 

Give  me  the  heart,  and  that  is  all. 
He,  who  has  blackness  on  his  skin, 

Or  mean  debasement  in  his  birth, 

Shall  he  not  freely  walk  the  earth, 
If  truth  and  honor  dwell  within  ? 

Then  like  your  fathers  be, 

And  let  the  slave  go  free, 
And  like  a  band  of  brothers  stand 

All  one  in  liberty." 


13* 


158  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 


[The  Cocheco  is  a  small,  but  beautiful  river,  which  flows  through 
a  portion  of  the  county  of  Strafford,  in  N.  H.  The  scenery  along 
its  borders  is  in  many  places  pleasant  and  romantic ;  and  it  is  the 
locality  of  some  of  the  descriptions  in  the  poems  on  American 
Cottage  Life.  It  empties  into  the  Piscataqua.] 

'T  is  not  that  the  waves  of  Cocheco 

Are  purer  or  brighter  of  glow, 
Or  brighter  the  shrubs  and  the  flowrets, 

O'er  the  waves  of  Cocheco  that  blow. 
'T  is  not,  that  the  sumac,  which  blushes, 

As  it  bathes  in  its  turbulent  tide, 
Or  the  song  of  the  bird  in  its  rushes, 

Are  better  than  thousands  beside. 

'T  is  not  that  the  meadows  are  greener, 

Or  the  oak  trees  more  towering  and  hoar, 
Or  the  canopied  heavens  serener, 

Than  you  've  witnessed  an  hundred  times  o'er. 
'T  is  this,  that  so  gladdens  Cocheco, 

It  shone  on  the  times  that  have  fled, 
And  the  trees  to  be  sure  are  the  brightest, 

That  full  often  have  waved  o'er  my  bead. 

'T  is  this,  that  the  days  of  my  childhood 

Have  played  'mong  its  elms  and  its  vines, 
And  remembrance  can  count  every  wildwood, 

And  murmuring  haunt  where  it  shines. 
'T  is  this,  that  the  waves  of  Cocheco 

Still  flow  for  the  friends  that  are  near, 
'T  is  this,  that  so  makes  its  recesses, 

Its  shades,  and  its  roses  so  dear. 


MAID  OF  SUNCOOK.  159 


MAID  OF  SUNCOOK. 

[Founded  on  certain  painful  events,  unnecessary  now  to  be 
repeated,  which  occurred  some  years  since,  in  a  family  living  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  Suncook  river,  in  N.  H.] 

YES,  Edward,  once  I  thought  thee  true, 
And  oh,  too  long  did  I  believe  thee ; 

But  now  my  faith  I  dearly  rue, 

And  wail,  that  e'er  thou  couldst  deceive  me. 

And  couldst  thou  wring  the  bosom  so, 

That  lived,  exulted  to  caress  thee  1 
Oh,  couldst  thou  rend  this  heart  with  woe, 

When  every  throb  arose  to  bless  thee  ? 

Time  was,  when  thou  couldst  call  me  fair, 
And  vow  your  love  was  mine  forever ; 

But  oh,  those  words  were  empty  air, 

Though  strong  to  break  the  heart,  deceiver ! 

Then  fare  thee  well,  since  thou  wilt  go, 

And  where  thou  canst,  thy  pleasures  borrow ; 

For  me,  though  grief  is  mine,  and  woe, 
No  pangs  shall  goad  my  life  to-morrow. 

And  if  in  death  thine  eyes  behold  me, 

And  watch  thy  Mary's  pallid  clay, 
Think  then  of  all  thy  lips  have  told  me, 

Think  then,  they  flattered  to  betray. 

Thus  Mary's  voice  her  anguish  spoke, 

When  shifting  clouds  on  high  were  driven, 

When  screamed  the  night-bird  from  the  oak, 
And  shone  the  troubled  stars  of  Heaven. 


160  BALLADS    AND    SONGS. 

And  from  the  cliff  o'er  Suncook's  wave, 
That  round  its  craggy  base  was  breaking, 

She  downward  sought  her  watery  grave, 
And  slept  the  sleep,  that  knows  no  waking. 


SWEET  HARP  OF  MY  COUNTRY. 

SWEET  harp  of  my  country !  why  hears  not  thy  grot, 
Through  its  bright   hollow  chambers,  thy  minstrelsy 
swelling  ? 

Have  thy  chords  their  seducing  enchantment  forgot? 
Have  music  and  glory  forsaken  thy  dwelling? 

Sweet  harp  of  my  country !  how  many  long  days 
Of  silence,  affliction,  and  sleep  must  we  number, 

Ere  the  light  of  thy  song  shall  console  with  its  blaze, 
And  thy  chords  shall  forever  escape  from  their  slumber  ? 

Oh,  soon  may  the  wreaths,  all  unsullied  and  bright, 
Grow  verdantly  round  thee  with  splendor  unbroken, 

And  thy  halls  utter  music  and  spells  of  delight, 
With  a  magic  too  holy  and  high  to  be  spoken. 

Oh,  soon  may  some  hand,  more  befitting  than  mine 
With  a  glow  that  is  worthy  rush  skillfully  o'er  thee, 

And  to  all  the  dear  wildness  and  sweetness,  that  'a  thine, 
To  honor,  to  freedom,  and  virtue  restore  thee. 


DOMESTIC  AND  RELIGIOUS  OFFERING. 


PART    SEC  OND. 


THE  RELIGIOUS  OFFERING. 


DOMESTIC  AND  RELIGIOUS  OFFERING. 


Patmos,  or  Meditations  in  Solitude,* 

DARK  rolled  the  angry  ocean's  ceaseless  wave, 

And  uttered  loud  his  everlasting  roar 

Around  the  solitary  rocks  of  Patmos. 

There  sat  the  PROPHET,  shut  out  from  the  world, 

He,  whom  our  Saviour  loved,  and  bore  him  in 

His  bosom,  the  endeared  Apostle  John  ; 

Now  old  and  weak  in  body,  strong  in  faith, 

An  exile  from  mankind,  but  near  to  heaven. 

Serene  amid  his  sufferings,  all  his  soul 

Was  wrapt  in  meditations,  holy,  high, 

Such  as  become  Christ's  humble  followers. 

He  thought  on  those,  who  are  corrupt  in  sin, 

The  fallen  and  rebellious  race  of  men ; 

He  thought  on  Him,  who  on  the  bloody  cross 

For  sinful  men  did  bear  a  cruel  death, 

Though  now  exalted  and  enthroned  in  heaven ; 

And  with  a  heart  full  of  devotion's  fire, 

Maintained  communion  with  the  Holy  One, 

*  Passages  from  an  unfinished  Poem. 


164  PATMOS,    OR 

Who  on  the  Universe  doth  sit  supreme, 
The  God,  Creator,  Father  of  all  things. 

And  every  man  may  have  his  Patmos,  his 

Secluded  place ;  some  solitary  wood, 

Sweptjby  bright  streams  and  cheered  by  small  birds'  songs ; 

Some  island  in  the  midst  of  waters  wide, 

That  gently  come  and  kiss  its  flowery  feet ; 

Some  Bethel,  such  as  that,  where  Jacob  saw 

Angels  descend,  and  heard  the  voice  of  God  ; 

Some  secret  chamber,  dedicate  to  prayer, 

As  that  where  Daniel  went  three  times  a  day. 

No  matter  where  it  is ;  't  is  Patmos  there, 

Where  God  is  present,  and  where  men  are  not ; 

Where  there  is  voice  within,  but  stillness  round  ; 

Where  the  rapt  soul  communes  with  things  divine, 

And  earthly  things  are  bidden  far  away. 


INVOCATION. 

WELCOME,  thrice  welcome,  then,  thou  lonely  place 
Ye  hours  of  blest  retirement,  ye  lone  woods, 
Ye  changeless  mountains,  seldom  trod  by  man, 
Ye  midnight  watches,  when  the  pensile  stars, 
And  silver  moon,  give  their  benignant  smile ! 
And  in  these  favored  seasons,  places  blest, 
Withdrawn  from  clamorous  strife,  the  foe  of  truth, 
Oh,  may  the  Holy  Spirit,  Comforter 
And  Teacher  of  mankind,  illume  this  heart, 
Darkened  with  sin ;  sustain  my  erring  powers  ; 
Repel  each  evil ;  purify  each  thought. 
He  is  the  chosen  Teacher  ;  men  have  sat 
At  Plato's  feet,  or  from  wise  Socrates 


MEDITATIONS    IN    SOLITUDE.  165 

Drunk  knowledge  in,  and  been  refreshed ;  but  those 

Were  human  lights,  and  not  divine ;  the  stars  of  earth, 

And  not  of  heavenly  flame,  too  apt  to  lead  astray. 

But  He,  the  fountain  of  all  truth,  who  gave 

To  prophets  inspiration  in  old  days, 

And  rapt  their  spirits  into  future  times, 

Unerring  knowledge  sheds,  and  makes  the  poor 

And  low  in  heart,  who  feel  and  own  their  need, 

More  wise  than  Greek,  more  wise  than  Roman  sage. 

Men  looked  on  Patmos  as  a  dreary  place, 

A  dungeon  made  of  solitary  rocks, 

Without  or  flower,  or  budding  tree,  or  song, 

Or  any  source  of  joy,  or  hope,  or  love; 

But  God  did  leave  it  not ;  his  angels  stood 

On  the  sharp,  pointed  rocks,  and  viewless  sung 

Sweet  songs  of  peace,  submission,  blessed  hope; 

The  Christian  exiles  heard  with  ravished  souls  ; 

And  lonely,  dark,  and  desert  as  it  was, 

The  Holy  Ghost  could  change  it  into  heaven. 


GOD    KNOWN    FROM    HIS    WORKS. 

OH,  thou  all-powerful  God  !  all  just,  all  wise ! 
My  heart  before  Thee  bows,  my  intellect, 
My  will.     The  powers  which  Thou  hast  given  me, 
Whate'er  their  kind,  whatever  name  they  bear, 
Oh,  may  they  e'er  united  homage  yield 
Of  faith,  of  feeling,  and  obedience. 
How  can  my  faith  be  other  than  it  is, 
While  I  have  ears  to  hear,  and  eyes  to  see, 
And  hands  to  handle,  all  the  powers  of  touch, 
And  taste,  and  smell,  and  sight,  which  link  me  to 
The  world  of  outward  things,  material  forms 
14 


166  PATMOS,    OR 

Of  every  shape  and  hue,  instinct  with  life, 

With  motion,  beauty  ?     A  voice  within, 

Which  't  is  not  wise  to  stifle  and  repress, 

Proclaims,  and  loudly  too,  they  have  a  cause. 

He,  who  stands  up  to  read  in  nature's  book, 

Inscribed  with  signatures  distinct  and  bright, 

Must  have  an  eye  obscured  with  unbelief, 

An  edge  of  intellection  dull  indeed, 

Who  doth  not  find  God's  name  in  every  page. 

Created  things ;  how  great,  how  wonderful ! 

Magnificently  great,  and  fitted  well 

The  glory  of  their  Author  to  express  ! 

"  Th'  invisible  things  of  God,  (so  taught  the  blest 

Apostle,)  are  made  known  from  things  created, 

E'en  his  eternal  power  and  Godhead."     Then 

Be  mine  to  read  his  varied  works,  creation 

To  peruse  with  humbleness,  and  thence  to  learn, 

From  aught  that  doth  attract  my  wondering  gaze, 

The  marks  and  proofs  of  excellence  divine. 


POWER  OF  GOD. 

ERE  time  began,  the  waters,  heaving  wide, 
Wrapped  darkly  round  the  formless  void  of  chaos, 
And  through  its  shapeless  realms  't  was  blackness  all. 
God  said,  "Let  there  be  light,"  and  light  there  was ; 
God  thundered  in  the  heavens,  and  the  waves 
Of  the  abyss  were  gathered  to  their  place. 
He  cleft  the  rocks,  the  rounded  vales  he  cleft, 
And  poured  the  cascades,  brooks,  and  rivers  down, 
E'en  from  the  shaggy  mountains  and  high  hills, 
To  rest  at  last  in  the  sea's  coral  halls. 
The  cedars  of  Libanus  he  did  make, 


MEDITATIONS  IN  SOLITUDE.  167 

Where  singing  birds  and  beauteous  build  their  nests ; 
The  fir-trees,  where  the  stork  doth  make  its  house. 
He  gives  the  flower  its  hue  and  sinuous  form ; 
He  makes  the  leaf,  that  twinkles  in  the  breeze, 
And  spreads  its  canopy  o'er  weary  travelers, 
With  summer's  heat  oppressed.     He  frames  the  shell, 
That,  with  its  wreathed  and  brightly  spotted  shape, 
Adorns  the  ocean's  sandy  shores  and  depths. 

And  e'en  beneath  the  surface  of  the  earth, 

The  dark,  hard  crust,  that  gives  itself  to   view, 

God  works,  surpassing  human  power  and  skill. 

He  frames  the  precious  ores,  in  texture  firm, 

Most  beautiful,  and  durable  as  bright. 

There  crystaline  forms  are  found,  of  endless  shape, 

Enriched  with  each  variety  of  hue ; 

There  doth  the  many-colored  opal  shine  ; 

There  grow  the  beds  of  marble,  Parian, 

Brexia,  Carrara,  countless  other  names, 

Which,  when  brought  forth  to  light,  by  artist  wrought, 

Stand  glorious  in  the  pillared  Capitol, 

O'erlaid  with  architrave  and  pediment ; 

And  oft  in  public  halls,  hold  forth  to  view 

The  chiseled  features  of  the  great  and  good, 

The  friends  and  benefactors  of  mankind. 

Thus  dost  Thou  work  in  secret  by  thyself. 

All  animals  are  thine,  no  less  than  trees, 
And  shagged  hills  and  the  vast  ocean  deep, 
And  treasure-houses  of  earth's  hidden  min'rals  ; 
Not  less  than  the  great  sun,  whose  golden  lamp 
Thou  fillest  every  day,  and  the  majestic  moon. 
Thou  givest  strength  unto  the  insect's  wing ; 


168  PATMOS,    OR 

Thou  mak'st  the  music  of  the  wild  bird's  song; 
And  when  in  the  vast  desert,  where  the  foot 
Of  husbandman  and  shepherd  never  trod, 
The  leopard  and  the  lion  seek  their  food, 
And  wake  with  thundering  voice  the  echoing  woods, 
Thou  hearest,  and  they  seek  Thee  not  in  vain. 
The  sea  is  thine,  as  well  as  the  dry  land, 
And  creeping  things  innnmerous  and  strange, 
And  beasts  both  small  and  great,  that  in  the  ocean 
Have  their  dwelling  place.     And  there  doth  play 
The  huge  leviathan,  armed  at  all  points, 
With  scales  thick  set  as  warriors  of  old  time, 
With  coats  of  mail.     He  sometimes  sweeps  along 
The  coasts,  and  sailors  in  their  boats  affrighted  flee, 
And  landsmen  watch  him  from  the  distant  hills. 
But  all,  oh  God,  are  thine  !     Thou  mad'st  them  all, 
And  givest  them  their  meat  in  season  due. 

OMNISCIENCE  OF  GOD. 

NOR  this  thine  only  attribute  ;  with  power 

Is  joined  ability  to  search  and  know. 

Thou  art  a  God  of  knowledge  without  bounds, 

Whose  piercing  thought  no  limits  can  restrain. 

As  sweetly  thine  own  Psalmist  sung;  "Great  is 

The  Lord,  his  understanding  infinite." 

Isaiah  too  thy  foresight  hath  proclaimed  ; 

"From  the  beginning  thou  declar'dst  the  end," 

"  From  ancient  times  the  things  that  are  not  done/' 

God  is  himself  an  universal  eye, 

Investing  with  its  penetrating  beam, 

Whate'er  hath  been,  whatever  yet  shall  be; 

The  breadth,  the  height,  the  searchless  depth  of  being. 


MEDITATIONS  IN  SOLITUDE. 

Sometimes  vain  man  doth  most  unwisely  think, 

That  Deity  knows  not  his  every  act, 

That  secret  things  are  hidden  from  his  view, 

That  outward  deeds,  in  open  daylight  done, 

And  these  alone  have  place  in  his  regards. 

Oh,  cherish  not  the  false,  presumptuous  thought ! 

God  knows  the  inward,  as  the  outward  man ; 

The  action  of  the  heart,  as 'of  the  limbs. 

Shall  He,  who  hath  so  nicely  framed  the  mind, 

That  intricate  and  wondrous  workmanship, 

Not  understand  its  powers  ?     Shall  not  He  know, 

Who  constantly  supports  the  soul  he  made, 

Its  thoughts,  desires,  emotions,  judgments,  passions  ? 

Yes,  he  hath  scanned  them  all.     No  darkness  hides, 

No  secrecy  conceals ;  but  solemn  night 

Is  as  the  noon-day  blaze,  all  open  to 

His  sleepless  eye,  all  naked,  all  exposed. 

Go  to  the  mountain  tops,  whose  granite  piles 
Listen  to  nought  but  the  dark  eagle's  scream, 
And  the  loud  whistling  of  the  felon  winds; 
And  God  is  there.     Go  to  the  pathless  woods, 
By  human  foot  ne'er  trod,  where  wild  flowers  spring, 
And  the  grim  wolf  doth  fiercely  guard  her  young ; 
And  God  is  there.     Go  down  and  down  to  the 
Dark  ocean  depths,  where  the  sea-serpent  makes 
His  slimy  bed,  o'erhung  with  coral  branches ; 
And  God  is  there.     And  say,  where  is  He  not? 
'T  is  He,  that  clothes  the  lily  of  the  field 
With  beauty  more  than  that  of  Solomon ; 
With  eye  attentive  both  to  man  and  beast, 
He  feeds  the  raven  hungering  for  food, 
And  notes  the  feeble  sparrow,  as  it  falls ; 
14* 


170  PATMOS,    OR 

He  numbereth  every  hair  upon  thy  head  ; 
And  when  dim  evening  comes  "  with  livery  gray" 
And  throws  her  mantle  o'er  the  slumbering  world, 
And  beast  and  bird  have  gone  unto  their  couch, 
And  man  himself  hath  closed  his  weary  eye, 
He  takes  his  nightly  round,  protects  thy  door, 
Stands  near  thine  unprotected  place  of  rest, 
Till  his  own  sun,  rejoicing  in  the  east, 
Returns  to  dissipate."  the  ebon  shades." 

To  him,  whose  sight  fair  science  hath  not  touched, 

Nor  God's  Eternal  spirit  proffered  light, 

There  may  be  marks  of  an  imperfect  sway, 

Disorder  in  God's  works,  and  want  of  wisdom. 

'T  is  in  thy  vision,  not  in  him  who  made ; 

In  thy  weak  understanding,  not  in  God. 

On  every  side  there  are  the  signatures, 

The  proofs  and  testimonies  of,  a  mind 

That  knew  what  it  had  planned,  and  planned  it  best. 

JUSTICE  OF  GOD. 

GOD  hath  all  power,  all  knowledge ;  and  that  power 

And  knowledge  doth  he  righteously  employ 

For  righteous  ends.     Deep  in  the  universe 

Are  the  foundations  laid  of  right,  of  justice  ; 

Immutable  foundations  laid  secure, 

Of  perfect  right,  justice  unchangeable. 

No  lapse  of  time,  no  change  of  circumstance,  k 

No  mere  appurtenance  of  name,  or  place,  or  rank, 

Can  alter  rectitude,  make  that  a  crime 

Which  virtuous  was  before,  or  moral  wrong 

Convert  to  moral  good.     Virtue  and  vice, 


MEDITATIONS  IN  SOLITUDE.  171 

Stamped  with  their  own  peculiar  attributes, 

With  lines  of  beauty  or  with  depths  of  shade, 

Have  their  own  fit,  unalterable  nature. 

Though  all  things  else  should  mingle,  change,  decay, 

Virtue  and  vice  remain  the  same,  unchanged ; 

They  dwell  apart,  and  never  can  approach. 

And  virtue  dwells  in  God,  shining  through  all 

His  character.     Whate'er  he  does  is  right ; 

Whate'er  designs  to  do  can  ne'er  be  wrong ; 

And  justice  will  He  measure  out  to  all, 

The  dwellers  in  his  measureless  domains, 

Administered  in  his  own  way  and  time. 

Though  men  of  crimes  and  blood  at  times  bear  sway, 

And  men  of  truth  and  virtue  wear  the  chain, 

"  There  is  a  God  above  us ;  "   all  is  well. 

The  heart,  reposing  fully  upon  Him, 

Has  nought  of  doubt  or  fear;  but  trusting  firm 

In  that  great  arm  which  rules  the  universe, 

Beholds  in  partial  evil  general  good, 

And  joins  the  song  of  angels  round  the  throne, 

"  Holy  art  Thou,  oh  God,  and  just  and  true  ! 

Men  utter  their  complaints  ;  but  not 

With  right.     'T  is  not  for  man,  child  of  the  dust, 

And  being  of  an  hour,  to  fathom  and 

Explore  the  height  and  depth  and  length  and  breadth 

Of  the  omniscient  sway.     He  cannot  frame 

An  insect's  tiny  wing;  he  cannot  make 

A  blade  of  grass  to  grow  ;  perplexed  and  puzzled 

By  the  meanest  thing  that  creeps  the  earth,  or  floats 

Upon  the  air  :   and  shall  his  feeble  mind 

Run  parallel  with  that  of  God  ?     Shall  he, 

Who  knows  but  little,  nor  that  little  well, 


172  PATMOS,    OR 

Affect  to  scrutinize  the  plans  of  heaven, 
Announcing  what  is  wrong  and  what  is  right  ? 
'T  is  God's  prerogative  and  sovereign  power, 
To  bring  from  evil  good,  from  bitter  sweet, 
Glory  from  shame,  and  joy  from  wretchedness. 
When  wide-spread  havoc  lays  creation  waste, 
And  when,  on  every  side  and  place,  arise 
The  breathings  of  distress  and  sounds  of  woe, 
He  opes  a  sudden  light,  dispels  the  gloom, 
And  shows  that  mercy  nestled  in  the  storm. 

Behold  from  Afric's  dark  and  suffering  shore, 

The  slave-ship  comes.     Beneath  her  pirate  flag 

Sit  mothers  and  their  children,  hopeless  all, 

In  mute,  o'erwelming,  matchless  misery. 

Humanity  sheds  bitter,  burning  tears  ; 

And  faith,  e'en  as  the  bulrush,  hangs  her  head  ; 

And  all  exclaim,  How  can  it  happen  thus  ? 

How  can  it  be,  that  the  just,  awful  God, 

Who  sits  in  heaven,  and  from  whose  searching  eye 

Nothing  escapes,  who  hath  all  might  and  power, 

Millions  of  flaming  bands  to  guard  his  throne, 

Lets  such  dread  scenes  of  crime  go  unavenged  ? 

Not  so.     The  day  of  retribution  comes, 

The  day  of  lamentation,  woe,  remorse, 

To  all  the  instruments  of  wickedness. 

He  breaks  the  captive's  bonds  and  sets  him  free. 

He  bids  the  slave  to  speak  in  Chatham's  tongue, 

And  kindles  in  his  soul  a  Hampden's  fire ; 

And  gives  him  higher  views  and  better  hopes, 

And  makes  him  know  and  feel,  that  he  's  a  man. 

And  they,  who  came  a  poor,  degraded  thing, 

Who  knew  the  bitter  pang,  and  that  was  all, 


MEDITATIONS    IN    SOLITUDE.  173 

Now  wakened  to  a  sense  of  their  own  rights, 
Tread,  with  a  freeman's  foot  and  heart,  the  soil, 
Which  they  so  long  have  wet  with  tears  and  blood : 
Or  thinking  of  their  distant  father  land, 
And  filled  with  pity  for  the  dwellers  there, 
Return  with  bliss  and  acclamations  high, 
And  carry  arts,  religion,  freedom,  peace. 

THE    DIVINE    MERCY. 

AND  Thou  art  merciful  as  just.     Thy  deeds, 

By  justice  guided,  prompted  are  by  love. 

On  Sinai's  mount  of  old  Thou  didst  descend, 

And  to  thy  servant  Moses  there  proclaim, 

"  The  Lord  in  goodness  and  in  truth  abundant, 

The  Lord,  long-suffering,  gracious,  merciful, 

Iniquity  forgiving,  sin,  transgression, 

For  thousands  keeping  mercy."     Free  it  flows, 

As  summer  brooks,  where  shepherds'  flocks  do  drink, 

And  visits  all.     It  has  its  fountain  in 

Th'  Eternal  Mind,  and  while  that  Mind  remains 

The  same  as  it  has  ever  been,  with  all 

Perfection  marked,  and  excellence  adorned, 

Mercy  shall  be  its  glorious  attribute. 

And  who  is  he,  to  whom  it  is  dispensed  ? 

Who  the  recipient,  on  whom  't  is  poured  ? 

Is  it  not  man,  poor,  feeble,  sinful  man  ? 

A  rebel  against  God,  whose  passions  are      >;1 .'   •. 

Arrayed  and  prompt  to  violate  the  hands, 

That  shower  these  mercies  down  ?     How  wondrous  then 

Thy  goodness  !     How  sublime  !     When  man  forgets 

Thee,  and  is  occupied  with  his  own  lusts, 

Thy  mercy  still  attends  him,  gives  him  food, 


174  PATMOS,    OR 

Protects  him  from  the  dangers  that  beset, 

Provides  for  every  want  with  watchful  care, 

As  though  he  loved  Thee,  thought  of  Thee  alone. 

But  most  of  all,  thou  gav'st  thine  only  Son. 

Herein  is  love,  compassion,  mercy's  self, 

That  Jesus  died  for  us,  when  we  were  sinners. 

Though  equal  with  the  Father,  and  arrayed 

With  attributes  that  bowed  the  glowing  hearts 

Of  angels  and  seraphic  natures  high ; 

He  took  upon  himself  man's  fleshly  form, 

And  toiled  and  taught  and  met  with  keen  rebuke, 

And  died  at  last  to  save  his  enemies. 

God  aims  to  renovate,  and  strives  to  save, 

Nor  willing  smites  the  creatures  he  hath  made. 

He  seeks  to  change  unreasonable  hate 

To  love,  and  render  happy  those,  who  have 

Destroyed  themselves.     And,  with  such  merciful  ends, 

He  uses  various  means,  adapted  to  the  state 

And  wants  of  those,  whom  he  would  guide  and  bless  ; 

To  glory  guide,  and  bless  with  endless  bliss. 

GOD    MERCIFUL    IN   JUDGMENTS. 

WHOM  God  doth  love,  he  chastens  and  reproves. 

When  worldly  lusts  cleave  to  his  followers, 

The  love  of  honor,  wealth,  or  carnal  ease, 

He  purifies  the  soul,  as  if  by  fire  ; 

With  a  consuming  flame  he  burns  the  dross, 

And  thus  brings  out  the  lustre  of  the  ore. 

He  makes  the  wealthy  poor,  the  honored  base, 

Sends  racking  pains  on  dwellers  at  their  ease, 

And  thus  by  sorrow,  makes  his  people  hear, 

Who,  when  He  spoke  in  mercy,  closed  their  ears, 


MEDITATIONS    IN    SOLITUDE.  175 

Or  listened  but  to  the  world's  syren  songs. 
Parents  have  loved  their  children  more  than  God, 
And  then,  to  save  the  sire,  he  takes  the  son, 
And  plucks  the  daughter  from  the  mother's  arms, 
And  makes  them  full  of  tears  and  desolate. 
But  call  him  not  unmerciful,  unkind ; 
'T  is  seeming  cruelty,  substantial  love ; 
A  father's  heart  beneath  a  frowning  face. 
As,  in  the  parched  and  thirsty  wilderness, 
Moses  did  smite  the  rock,  whence  came  relief 
To  Israel's  famished  multitude,  so  God 
Doth  smite,  and  smite  with  an  almighty  arm; 
But  from  the  wounded,  broken,  bleeding  heart, 
He  gently  draws  perennial  blessings  out ; 
Submission,  penitence,  returning  joy, 
Enduring  love  and  everlasting  life. 

EFFICACY    OP    PRAYER. 

THERE  is  a  power  in  supplicating  lips, 
There  is  in  every  good  man's  fervent  prayer 
A  potency ;  and  it  availeth  much. 
Mark  yonder  aged  man,  unknown  to  fame, 
Who  dwells  in  some  lone  cot  remote,  unseen, 
Embosomed  deep  in  thick,  embowering  trees. 
Though  poor,  unhonored,  ignorant  perchance, 
At  night  he  calls  around  his  modest  hearth 
His  family,  and  reads  the  Word  of  God, 
With  serious  look,  the  index  of  his  heart, 
And  then  devoutly  prays.     Prayer  is  his  breath. 
At  morning,  noon,  and  night  his  humble  cry, 
Prompted  by  penitence,  and  hope,  and  love, 
Is  upward  sent  from  a  believing  soul. 


176  PATMOS,    OR 

Is  there  no  power  in  that  1     And  is  his  prayer, 
Unknown  and  all  unhonored  as  he  is, 
Uttered  in  vain  ?     Oh,  no !     It  cannot  be ; 
But  mounting  upward  to  the  God  of  heaven, 
And  to  Jehovah's  bosom  penetrating, 
It  works  its  purpose.     Those,  who  never  heard 
His  name  or  place,  too  low  for  their  regards, 
May  yet  the  blessing  reap,  unmeasured  good. 

Oh,  for  a  spirit  of  prayer  devout  and  deep, 

A  fervency  and  power  of  supplication, 

A  ceaseless  call  and  knocking  at  the  gate 

And  sanctuary  of  the  Most  High  God, 

The  giving  up  of  soul  Elijah  prayed  with, 

The  fervency  of  Paul,  or,  more  than  either, 

His  power  of  prayer,  who  in  the  Garden  prayed, 

Spending  whole  nights  !     Then  would  the  mourner's  heart 

With  joy  be  filled ;  the  sinner's  dark  career 

Of  guilt  be  stopped ;  the  churches  rise  and  from 

The  dust  would  shake  themselves,  and  soon  be  seen 

Wearing  their  shining  robes.     All  nature  calls, 

Throughout  her  wide  and  complicate  domain, 

For  more  and  deeper  intercourse  with  God, 

Who  gives  the  surety  of  his  sacred  Word, 

That  praying  breath  is  never  spent  in  vain. 

THE    GOOD    SHEPHERD. 

THE  Shepherd  loves  his  flock ;  with  care  he  guides 
Them  to  the  pleasant  pasture  grounds  and  brooks, 
That  murmur  music  soft,  and  kiss  the  roots 
Of  elm  and  scented  birch.     And  ever  and 
Anon  with  pastoral  pipe  he  breathes  a  strain, 


MEDITATIONS    IN    SOLITUDE.  177 

That  flocks,  and  streams,  and  woods,  delight  to  hear. 
Oh,  Christ !     Thou  art  our  Shepherd,  and  we  hear, 
Entranced  with  deepest  ravishment,  thy  voice, 
Sweeter  than  sound  of  earthly  shepherd's  lute, 
For  thine  own  lips  have  said,  "  /  know  my  sheep." 
Yes,  Thou  dost  know  them ;  not  a  lamb  shall  stray, 
Entangled  in  the  depths  of  woods  remote, 
But  Thou  wilt  mark  its  wanderings,  and  restore 
It  safe  to  thine  own  chosen,  cherished  fold. 


MEDITATION. 

THE  Christian  loves  to  meditate  alone ; 
For  when  alone,  he's  not  in  solitude, 
But  holds  communion  with  the  mighty  God, 
And  with  his  Son  divine.     Therefore  he  seeks 
The  far  remote  and  solitary  place, 
The  secrecy  of  woods,  the  walk  retired, 
The  banks  of  rivers,  where  the  herb  and  flower 
In  silent  beauty  speak  their  Maker's  praise, 
The  mountain  and  its  caverned  sanctuaries. 
And  hence  to  him  the  preciousness  of  night, 
Of  moonless,  starless,  solitary  night  ; 
For  when  the  bright  array  of  lighted  heaven 
Is  closed  up  in  the  universal  blot 
Of  beauty,  stars  within  the  soul  shine  forth, 
With  golden  ray  melting  the  darkened  veil 
Of  unbelief,  of  sorrow,  and  of  doubt, 
And  bathing  with  a  flood  of  light  the  heart. 
15 


178  THE    SABBATH. 


The  Sabbath, 
I. 

IT  is  the  time  of  rest,  the  Sabbath  day, 
That  summons  from  the  heart  the  gentle  strain  ; 
Nor  well  may  those  withhold  the  votive  lay, 
Who  know  the  joys,  that  follow  in  its  train. 
The  Sabbath !     What  associations  cling, 
Holy  and  high,  to  that  beloved  name  ! 
It  is  not  mine  upon  poetic  wing 
To  soar  aloft,  and  bear  it  forth  to  fame ; 
But  e'en  from  one  like  me  a  tribute  it  may  claim. 

II. 

How  pleasantly  above  the  eastern  hill 
Its  dawning  comes  !     Its  golden  light  doth  rest, 
All  undisturbed,  on  tree,  and  bank,  and  rill, 
And  laughing  creeps  into  the  wild  bird's  nest. 
The  little  bird,  borne  high  on  dewy  wings, 
Renews  his  song ;  there  is  no  other  sound ; 
Save  where  the  bubbling  brook  in  concert  sings, 
And  lowing  ox  sends  loud  his  joys  around, 
No  longer  to  the  yoke  in  patient  labor  bound. 


THE    SABBATH.  179 

III. 

And  why  should  hapless  man  forever  moil, 
Nor  rest  to  body  or  to  soul  impart  ? 
Six  days  in  seven  are  long  enough  for  toil, 
The  other  shines  for  worship  and  the  heart. 
When  God,  the  Maker,  framed  the  rising  earth, 
From  night  and  dull  chaotic  forms  released, 
And  singing  stars  proclaimed  its  wondrous  birth, 
Upon  the  seventh  morn  his  labor  ceased ; 
He  sanctified  the  Day  to  wearied  man  and  beast. 

IV. 

He  gave  it  to  the  rich  alike  and  poor  ; 
He  blessed  and  hallowed  it,  till  time  shall  end  ; 
And  bade  its  light  the  languid  limb  restore, 
And  come  to  prisoner  and  to  slave  a  friend. 
When  o'er  the  hills  its  signal  is  displayed, 
Silence  shall  reign,  the  city's  murmur  cease, 
The  fervent  haste  of  rural  toil  be  stayed, 
E'en  the  tired  steer,  that  knows  but  little  peace, 
Shall  claim  its  sacred  hours,  and  gain  a  short  release. 

V. 

This  is  the  honor  of  its  sacred  ray  ; 
The  blessings  these,  that  fly  upon  its  wing  ; 
Where'er  it  comes,  tired  labor  hies  away, 
And  he,  who  toiled,  will  sit  him  down  and  sing. 
See  how  the  scythe  hangs  idly  on  the  tree ! 
No  sound  is  heard  from  yonder  noisy  mill ; 
The  busy  maiden's  wheel  stands  silently ; 
The  smiting  spade  hath  ceased  the  earth  to  till, 
The  plough  is  in  the  glebe ;  the  ringing  anvil  still. 


180 


THE    SABBATH. 


VI. 

It  is  a  day  of  rest  for  passion  too ; 
Pale  DISCONTENT  no  longer  clouds  his  brow  ; 
ANGER,  that  looked  with  stern,  distorted  view, 
Calms  his  loud  voice,  and  smooths  his  aspect  now. 
E'en  AVARICE,  with  firm  relentless  hold, 
Unclenches  his  hard  grasp  and  patient  sits, 
Nor  scrambles  here  and  there  for  muckle  gold, 
As  if  beset  for  life  or  out  of  wits ; 
And  JEALOUSY  no  more  shakes  in  his  green-eyed  fits. 

VII. 

But  there  are  other  visitants — for,  lo, 
DEVOTION  comes  with  sweeping  length  of  stole  ; 
In  her  raised  eye  the  sacred  fervors  glow, 
Disclosing  clear  her  purity  of  soul. 
Two  little  children  gather  at  her  side, 
The  one,  called  PENITENCE,  doth  hardly  dare 
To  raise  her  mourning  eye ;  and  with  her  hair 
She  wipes  away  the  tears,  she  would  not  hide ; 
No  longer  shall  her  feet  in  sinful  paths  abide. 

VIII. 

The  other  child,  that  held  the  parent  hand, 
With  eye  undimmed  by  shadows  or  by  tears, 
(Her  gentle  name  is  LOVE,)  doth  smiling  stand, 
With  glowing  heart,  that  hath  no  place  for  fears ; 
But  peace  upon  her  open  brow  doth  shine, 
And  joy  is  penciled  on  her  aspect  bright. 
Whoever  to  her  presence  may  incline, 
Will  find  their  sorrows  vanish  at  the  sight ; 
She  doth  but  speak  a  word,  and  fills  them  with  delight. 


THE    SABBATH.  181 

IX. 

Peace  breathes  in  all  around.     The  smoke  ascends 
From  yonder  cottage  through  the  silent  air  ; 
Quick  with  the  scene  Imagination  blends, 
And  sees  beside  the  hearth  the  Grandsire  there. 
He  reads  aloud  the  venerated  Book, 
His  form  bent  low,  his  tresses  silver  gray  ; 
And,  quickened  by  his  words  and  serious  look, 
The  children,  mindful  of  the  Sabbath  day, 
Bestow  the  patient  ear,  and  learn  the  better  way. 

X." 

The  Sabbath  to  the  cottager  is  dear, 
Because  it  welcomes  to  the  hearth's  bright  blaze, 
The  sons  and  daughters,  who  in  toil  severe 
Fulfill,  remote  from  home,  the  other  days. 
Their  home,  sweet  home,  is  pleasant  in  their  eyes ; 
But  they  are  poor,  and  work  gives  honest  bread. 
The  Sabbath  light,  that  gilds  the  ruddy  skies, 
And  sees  them  gathered  in  their  humble  shed, 
Calls  from  the  parent  heart  fresh  blessings  on  their  head. 

XI. 

Nor  man  alone  is  blest.     The  lowing  herd, 
That  crowd  around  his  door,  express  their  joy ; 
The  wild  beast  of  the  wood,  the  mounting  bird, 
That  high  at  heaven's  gate  finds  sweet  employ, 
Imbibe  the  chartered  mercies  of  the  day. 
No  longer  by  the  faithless  hook  betrayed, 
The  spotted  trout  darts  in  his  wonted  play. 
The  hare,  that  nestled  in  the  thickest  shade, 
Now  leaps  across  the  path,  and  o'er  the  sunny  glade. 
15* 


182  THE    SABBATH. 

XII. 

It  is  the  day  of  Worship.     Where  the  rill, 
Bright  with  the  sunbeams,  gives  its  soothing  sound, 
The  Church  adorns  the  gently  rising  hill, 
And  flowers  spring  up,  and  trees  are  planted  round. 
The  villagers,  within  its  sacred  wall, 
Are  wont  upon  the  Sabbath's  hours  to  meet, 
Upon  the  great  Creator's  name  to  call, 
And  pour  their  homage  at  the  Saviour's  feet, 
In  supplication's  voice,  and  anthem  simply  sweet. 

XIII. 

And  now  it  is  the  customary  time, 
When  to  their  rural  temple  they  repair. 
Filled  with  the  thoughts  of  duty,  pure,  sublime, 
The  Holy  Bible  in  their  hands  they  bear. 
Matrons  their  little  flock  prepare  to  lead ; 
And  village  maids,  in  youth's  rejoicing  bloom, 
And  feeble,  aged  men,  the  staff  that  need, 
And  childhood  gay,  with  Sunday  frock  and  plume, 
Churchward  their  solemn  way  at  wonted  hour  resume. 

XIV. 

And  from  the  holy  place  behold  him  rise, 
God's  messenger;  his  locks  are  thin  and  white; 
He  upward  lifts  his  mildly  glancing  eyes, 
And  supplicates  the  God  of  life  and  light, 
Not  with  mere  lips,  but  with  the  spirit's  breath ; 
For  in  his  mind  it  is  no  vulgar  prize, 
To  pluck  the  soul  from  sin,  and  woe,  and  death, 
And  plant  it,  starlike,  in  the  spotless  skies, 
To  shine  with  quenchless  blaze,  when  man  and  nature  dies. 


THE    SABBATH.  Ibd 

XV. 

He  was  indeed  the  shepherd  of  his  fold, 
And  sought  in  body  and  in  soul  their  good. 
Unbribed  to  labor  by  the  charms  of  gold, 
He  patient  toiled,  and  strong  in  virtue  stood. 
The  sordid  ties,  that  human  hearts  control, 
The  bonds  of  earth,  swayed  not  his  stedfast  mind, 
That  pointed,  like  the  needle  to  the  pole, 
To  Him,  who  died  to  rescue  human  kind  ; 
In  nothing  else  did  he  abiding  pleasure  find. 

XVI. 

Sometimes  his  cherished  people  mourned  their  dead ; 
Perhaps  a  darling  child  his  head  doth  bow ; 
And  bitter  are  the  tears  the  parents  shed, 
As  they  bend  o'er  the  loved  one's  pallid  brow. 
At  that  sad  hour  the  constant  pastor  near 
His  sympathy  and  consolation  lends. 
Skillful,  he  wipes  away  the  mourner's  tear, 
And  shows  that  God,  in  what  of  ill  he  sends, 
Though  now  his  ways  are  dark,  some  secret  good  intends. 

XVII. 

His  days  were  days  of  watchfulness  and  prayer, 
And,  while  he  trod  himself  the  narrow  road, 
He  taught  the  lost  to  turn  their  footsteps  there, 
And  cast  away  transgression's  heavy  load. 
And  for  their  help  he  plead  the  Holy  Page, 
The  promise  fair,  in  words  of  light  displayed, 
That  those,  who  tread  the  heavenly  pilgrimage 
And  humbly  seek,  shall  have  the  needed  aid, 
To  the  Redeemer  dear,  though  oft  by  sins  betrayed. 


184  THE    SABBATH. 

XVIII. 

Nor  was  he  all  unheeded ;  but  his  voice, 
As  if  an  angel's  joyous  lips  were  nigh, 
Availed  to  make  the  trembling  heart  rejoice  ; 
Nor  seldom  penitence  bedewed  the  eye 
Of  those,  who  long  the  Savior  set  at  nought. 
Then  was  his  spirit  glad ;  peace  filled  his  soul, 
If  he  availed,  by  heavenly  wisdom  taught, 
To  lead  from  sin,  and  its  attendant  dole, 
E'en  one  to  better  paths  and  virtue's  blest  control. 

XIX. 

Yes,  there's  a  rest,  he  said,  a  Sabbath  near, 
More  pure  and  holy  than  we  now  behold. 
There  may  we  all,  in  long  communion  dear, 
Together  meet,  the  shepherd  and  the  fold. 
Peace  to  his  silent  dust !     And  may  he  find, 
As  o'er  that  Sabbath  clime  his  feet  shall  tread, 
The  wanderer  and  the  lost,  the  halt  and  blind, 
By  precept  taught  and  by  example  led, 
Up  to  the  realms  of  light,  to  Christ  their  blessed  head. 


EVENING    REFLECTIONS. 


Evening  Reflections, 

HUSHED  was  the  tumult  of  the  day, 

The  evening's  wonted  breeze  was  still; 

The  placid  moon,  with  silver  ray, 

Chequered  the  groves  of  vale  and  hill, 

And  not  a  cloud  o'er  all  the  sky, 

Was  witnessed  by  my  wandering  eye. 

The  light  was  out  in  each  lone  cot, 
The  farmer  slept  at  nature's  call, 

And  sound  or  action  reached  me  not, 
Save  but  the  cricket  in  the  wall. 

The  beast  was  on  his  lair ;  his  breast 

The  bird  had  pillowed  on  his  nest. 

Then  thought  my  soul  of  each  dear  scene, 
Where  childhood  sported  gay  and  boon ; 

The  gambols  on  the  village  green, 
Beneath  the  pale  and  watchful  moon, 

When  friends  and  nature  had  a  charm 

The  sting  of  sorrow  to  disarm. 

Nor  did  my  soul  find  resting  here ; 

But  prompted  by  this  hour  of  bliss, 
She  soared  above  this  earthly  sphere, 

And  found  a  scene  more  calm  than  this ; 
A  heaven,  where  there  is  endless  joy, 
No  cares  invade,  no  griefs  annoy. 


186  SENNACHERIB. 


Sennacherib, 

["  Then  the  angel  of  the  Lord  went  forth,  and  smote  in  the  camp 
of  the  Assyrians,  an  hundred  and  four-score  and  five  thousand  ; 
and  when  they  arose  early  in  the  morning,  behold,  they  were  all 
dead  corpses  :  So  Sennacherib,  king  of  Assyria,  departed."  Isa. 
xxxvii.  36,  37.] 

THE  trumpet  pealed  its  joyful  cry, 

The  coal-black  war-horse  neighed ; 
The  glittering  banner  floated  high, 
With  heart  of  steel  and  threatening  eye 
Each  warrior  drew  his  blade. 

The  setting  sun  at  close  of  day, 

O'er  Carmel's  mount  of  dew, 
Bathed  with  its  light  the  proud  array 
Of  champing  steeds  and  plumage  gay, 

And  flags  that  glittering  flew. 

But  lo !     The  morn  returns  from  far, 

And  snowy  plume  and  sword, 
The  haughty  chief,  the  steed  of  war, 
The  lifted  trump,  the  smoking  car, 

Have  fall'n  before  the  Lord. 

God's  angel,  like  the  desert's  blast, 

Came  flying  down  the  sky ; 
He  hurled  his  vengeance  as  he  past, 
And  every  warrior  breathed  his  last, 

And  closed  was  every  eye. 


DYING    THOUGHTS.  187 

Oh  Lord,  with  Thee  is  endless  might, 

To  Thee  be  endless  praise ; 
For  Thou  canst  curb  the  crimson  fight, 
The  warrior's  plume  of  glory  blight, 

And  quench  his  armor's  blaze. 


Dying   Thoughts, 

["  For  what  is  a  man  profited,  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world 
and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  or  what  shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for 
his  soul  ? ' '  Matt.  xvi.  26.] 

MY  spirit  sinks  beneath  death's  chilling  blight, 
Earth's  stars  and  suns  no  more  for  me  shall  shine ; 
But  in  eternity's  broad,  searching  light, 
How  shall  I  stand  with  such  a  heart  as  mine  ; 
A  heart  so  prone  to  earth,  so  far  from  God, 
In  mercy's  hour  so  vain,  and  so  ingrate, 
So  unsubmissive  'neath  affliction's  rod, 
So  full  of  evil  at  its  best  estate ! 
With  such  a  darkened  heart  I  'm  called  to  steer 
My  bark  upon  Eternity's  broad  sea; 
My  sails  are  all  afloat,  and  loud  I  hear 
The  torrent  waves  dash  wide  and  fearfully. 
And  shall  I  perish  1     Lost  or  not,  I  go ! 
Oh,  God !     To  thee  at  this  dread  hour  I  turn. 
Oh,  whisper  to  my  soul,  and  let  me  know 
The  humbled  sinner  Thou  wilt  never  spurn. 
Hast  Thou  not  said  it !     Dark  I  am,  impure ; 
And  only  through  Thy  love,  my  soul  can  be  secure. 


Scripture   Sonnets, 


(l.)       THE  LIBERTY    OF  THE    GOSPEL. 

["  Jesus  answered  them,  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  whosoev- 
er committeth  sin  is  the  servant  of  sin.  If  the  Son,  therefore,  shall 
make  you  free,  ye  shall  be  free  indeed."  John  viii.  34,  36.] 

IF  thou,  oh  God,  wilt  make  my  spirit  free, 
Then  will  that  darkened  soul  be  free  indeed ; 
I  cannot  break  my  bonds,  apart  from  thee, 
Without  thy  help  I  bow  and  serve  and  bleed. 
Arise,  oh  Lord,  and  in  thy  matchless  strength, 
Asunder  rend  the  links  my  heart  that  bind, 
And  liberate  and  raise  and  save,  at  length, 
My  long  enthralled  and  subjugated  mind. 
And  then  with  strength  and  beauty  in  her  wings, 
My  quickened  soul  shall  take  an  upward  flight, 
And  in  thy  blissful  presence,  King  of  kings, 
Rejoice  in  liberty  and  life  and  light, 
In  renovated  power  and  conscious  truth, 
In  faith  and  cheerful  hope,  in  love  and  endless  youth. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  189 


(ll.)       DIVINE    LIGHT. 

["  For  Thou  art  my  lamp,  Oh  Lord  ;  and  the  Lord  will  enlighten 
my  darkness.'' —  "  The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me,  because  he 
hath  anointed  me  to  preach  recovery  of  sight  to  the  blind."  2 
Sam.  xxii.  29  :  Luke  iv.  18.] 

ON  every  side  mysterious  things  abound, 
In  earth  and  sky  and  ocean's  deep  domain, 
Which  man's  poor  reason  utterly  confound, 
Beyond  his  power  to  fathom  or  explain. 
His  mind  is  dark.     In  what  way  shall  he  see  ? 
Oh,  God  !     Form  thou  thine  image  in  my  heart, 
Implant  thy  likeness  in  my  spiritual  part, 
And  help  me  to  behold  all  things  in  thee. 
Thou  art  the  source  of  light.     That  light,  when  through 
My  darkened  mind  its  radiance  is  streaming, 
In  all  its  shadowy,  secret  places  beaming, 
At  once  dispels  the  dimness  of  my  view. 
In  thy  light  seeing  light,  my  raptured  eye 
Doth  every  where  behold  love  and  infinity. 
16 


190  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(ill.)       THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 

["  The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd  ;  I  shall  not  want ;  he  maketh  me 
to  lie  down  in  the  green  pastures ;  he  leadeth  me  beside  the  still 
waters."  Ps.  xxiii.  1,  2.] 

BLEST  Jesus !     Thou  the  gentle  Shepherd  art, 
That  watchest  for  thy  flock  with  sleepless  care  ; 
The  lambs  within  thy  bosom  thou  dost  bear, 
And  warm  the  sick  and  fainting  on  thy  heart. 
When  beats  the  heated  sun  upon  their  head, 
And  heaviness  oppresses  thy  poor  flock, 
Then  dost  thou  lead  them  to  some  shadowy  rock, 
Or  where  umbrageous  trees  are  overspread. 
To  pastures  thou  dost  guide  us  by  thy  crook, 
Where  tender  plants  and  buds  and  flowrets  grow, 
"  Flowers  red  and  white,"  that  bend  o'er  waves  below, 
The  peaceful  waves  of  many  a  cooling  brook. 
Oh,  gentle  Shepherd !  guide  us  on  our  way, 
Watch  o'er  thy  tender  lambs,  nor  let  them  go  astray. 


SCRIPTURE  SONNETS.  191 


(IV.)   FEAR  OF  DEATH. 

["  For  I  am  in  a  strait  betwixt  two,  having  a  desire  to  depart,  and 
to  be  with  Christ ;  which  is  far  better."     Phil.  i.  23.] 

THE  body  perishes,  but  not  the  mind  ; 
The  outward  man  decays,  but  that  within 
Shall  grow  more  pure  and  bright,  like  gold  refined, 
Rebuilt  in  strength,  and  separate  from  sin. 
E'en  now  I  feel  the  purifying  flame, 
A  fire  from  heaven  is  kindling  in  my  heart, 
Diffusing  greater  joy  than  words  can  name, 
And  pouring  light  through  all  the  mental  part. 
That  fire  shall  burn  long  after  the  sad  hour, 
When  death  shall  bring  the  body  to  the  grave ; 
Increasing  in  its  brightness  and  its  power, 
Long  as  eternal  ages  roll  their  wave. 
Why  should  we  tremble,  then,  and  fear  to  die ; 
Death  but  unbinds  the  soul,  and  frees  us  for  the  sky. 


192  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(V.)       THE  POWER  OF  GOD    IN    CREATION. 

["  Hearken  unto  me,  0  Jacob  and  Israel,  my  called ;  I  am  He ;  I 
am  the  first ;  I  also  am  the  last.  Mine  hand  also  hath  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  the  earth,  and  my  right  hand  hath  spanned  out  the  Heav- 
ens." Isaiah  xlviii.  12,  13.] 

THE  boundless  heavens,  oh  Lord,  are  made  by  Thee, 
And  Thou  hast  made  the  stars  that  through  them  gleam, 
And  Thou,  the  silver  moon  with  placid  beam  ; 
They  all  proclaim  Thy  power  and  majesty. 
And  Thou  hast  made  the  earth  and  all  its  fountains, 
The  fountains,  where  the  wild  beast  slakes  its  throat ; 
The  myriads  of  birds,  with  vernal  note, 
Cheering  the  forests  waving  on  the  mountains. 
And  thou  hast  made  the  sea  and  all  therein, 
Its  caverned  solitudes  and  rocky  shore, 
Its  heaving  waves  and  everlasting  roar, 
Its  fishes  and  its  huge  Leviathan. 
Great  God  !     The  everlasting  God  art  Thou ; 
Before  Thee  let  all  hearts  with  humble  reverence  bow. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  193 


(VI.)       THE  SABBATH. 

["Remember  the  Sabbath  day  to  keep  it  holy.  Six  days  shall 
thou  labor,  and  do  all  thy  work.  But  the  seventh  day  is  the  Sab- 
bath of  the  Lord,  thy  God."  Exod.  xx.  8,  9,  10.] 

OUR  nation's  glory  is  her  Sabbath's  light, 
The  day  of  quiet,  purity,  and  rest. 
Her  children  then  in  holy  acts  unite, 
The  world  forgotten,  worldly  cares  repressed. 
This  is  the  day,  "  of  all  the  week  the  best," 
The  source  of  private  bliss  and  public  power  : 
May  praises,  poured  from  the  believing  breast, 
And  humble  suplications  fill  each  hour. 
And  in  our  day  of  woe,  our  trying  time, 
The  Sabbath's  God  shall  lend  a  listening  ear, 
And  coming  swift  upon  the  clouds  sublime, 
For  our  protection  and  defence  appear. 
He  is  the  friend  and  helper  of  the  cause 
Of  those  who  venerate  and  keep  his  holy  laws. 
16* 


194  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(VII.)       NECESSITY    OF     DIVINE    ILLUMINATION. 

["  But  the  natural  man  receiveth  not  the  things  of  the  Spirit  of 
God ;  for  they  are  foolishness  unto  him ;  neither  can  he  know  them, 
because  they  are  spiritually  discerned."  1  Cor.  ii.  14.] 

OH,  send  one  ray  into  my  sightless  ball, 
Transmit  one  beam  into  my  darkened  heart ! 
On  Thee,  Almighty  God,  on  Thee  I  call, 
Incline  thy  listening  ear,  thine  aid  impart ! 
In  vain  the  natural  sun  his  beams  doth  yield, 
In  vain  the  moon  illumes  the  fields  of  air ; 
The  eye-sight  of  my  soul  is  quenched  and  sealed, 
And  what  is  other  light,  if  shades  are  there  ! 
Beyond  the  sun  and  moon  I  lift  my  gaze, 
Where  round  thy  throne  a  purer  light  is  spread, 
Where  seraphs  fill  their  urns  from  that  bright  blaze, 
And  angels'  souls  with  holy  fires  are  fed. 
Oh,  send  from  that  pure  fount  one  quickening  ray, 
And  change  these  inward  shades  to  bright  and  glorious  day. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNNTS.  195 


RESTORATION  TO    THE  DIVINE  IMAGE. 


["  We  are  changed  into  the  same  image  from  glory  to  glory, 
even  as  by  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord.''      2  Cor.  iii.  18.] 

UPON  the  morning  flower  the  dew's  small  drop, 
So  small  as  scarcely  to  arrest  the  eye, 
Receives  the  rays  from  all  of  heaven's  wide  cope, 
And  images  the  bright  and  boundless  sky. 
And  thus  the  heart,  when  't  is  renewed  by  grace, 
Recalled  from  error,  purified,  erect, 
Receives  the  image  of  Jehovah's  face, 
And  though  a  drop,  the  Godhead  doth  reflect. 
[t  hath  new  light,  new  truth,  new  purity, 
A  rectitude  unknown  in  former  time, 
A  love,  that  in  its  arms  of  charity 
Encircles  every  land  and  every  clime  ; 
Submission,  and  in  God  a  humble  trust, 
And  quickened  life  to  all,  that's  pure  and  kind  and  just. 


196  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(iX.)       THE    BLESSED    NAME    OF    CHRIST. 

["  If  ye  be  reproached  for  the  name  of  Christ,  happy  are  ye  ; 
for  the  Spirit  of  glory  and  of  God  resteth  upon  you.  On  their  part  he 
is  evil  spoken  of,  but  on  your  part  he  is  glorified."  1  Peter,  iv.  14.] 

WHATE'ER  our  griefs  in  life,  whate'er  in  death, 
If  doomed  perchance  to  feel  the  martyr's  flame, 
Still,  with  our  last  and  agonizing  breath, 
In  joy  will  we  repeat  Christ's  precious  name  : 
Oh  !  there's  a  magic  in  that  glorious  word  ; 
No  other  has  such  power  ;  the  mighty  voice, 
From  senatorial  lips  and  patriots  heard, 
Can  ne'er  like  this  enkindle,  rouse,  rejoice. 
For  Christ's  dear  name  the  saints,  without  a  groan, 
In  times  of  old  met  death  upon  their  knees ; 
For  Christ's  dear  name  the  lonely  Piedmontese 
Down  headlong  o'er  the  crimson  rocks  were  thrown. 
That  blessed  name  gives  hope  and  strength  and  zeal, 
That  sets  at  nought  alike  the  flood,  the  fire,  the  steel. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  197 


(X.)       TRUE    RECTITUDE. 

["  And  herein  do  I  exercise  myself,  to  have  always  a  conscience 
void  of  offence  toward  God  and  toward  men."     Acts  xxiv.  16.] 

WHAT  constitutes  the  true  nobility  ? 
Not  wealth,  nor  name,  nor  outward  pomp,  nor  power  ; 
Fools  have  them  all ;  and  vicious  men  may  be 
The  idols  and  the  pageants  of  an  hour. 
But  't  is  to  have  a  good  and  honest  heart, 
Above  all  meanness  and  above  all  crime, 
And  act  the  right  and  honorable  part 
In  every  circumstance  of  place  and  time. 
He,  who  is  thus,  from  God  his  patent  takes, 
His  Maker  formed  him  the  true  nobleman  ; 
Whate'er  is  low  and  vicious  he  forsakes, 
And  acts  on  rectitude's  unchanging  plan. 
Things  change  around  him  ;  changes  touch  not  him  ; 
The  star,  that  guides  his  path,  fails  not,  nor  waxes  dim. 


198  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XI.)       SUBJECTION    TO    GOD. 

["  See  now  that  I,  even.I,  am  he,  and  there  is  no  God  with  me ;  I 
kill  and  I  make  alive ;  I  wound  and  I  heal ;  neither  is  there  any 
that  can  deliver  out  of  my  hand."  Deut.  xxxii.  39.] 

SOMETIMES  doth  my  up-lifted  heart  suggest 
It  is  not  good  Jehovah's  yoke  to  bear ; 
Forgive,  oh  God,  the  thought,  and  teach  my  breast 
There's  safety  in  thine  arm,  and  only  there. 
If  God  be  not  my  master,  where 's  my  place  ? 
If  I  his  kingdom  leave,  where  shall  I  go  1 
E'en  frighted  Chaos  bows  before  his  face, 
And  Hell's  dark  world  doth  his  dominion  know. 
May  my  poor  will,  O  God,  be  bowed  to  thine, 
Each  thought,  each  purpose,  feeling,  as  thine  own, 
Ever  harmonious  with  thy  great  design, 
And  humbly  circling  round  the  central  throne. 
In  thee  I  live,  with  thee  move  joyous  on, 
Without  thy  power  am  lost,  extinct,  and  gone. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  199 


(xil.)      THE   MILLENNIAL   DAY. 

["  They  shall  not  hurt  nor  destroy  in  all  my  holy  mountain  : 
for  the  earth  shall  be  full  of  the  knowledge  of  the  Lord,  as  the 
waters  cover  the  sea."  Isa.  xi.  9.] 

UPON  God's  Holy  Mountain  all  is  peace. 
Of  clanging  arms  and  cries  and  wail,  no  sound 
Goes  up  to  mingle  with  the  gentle  breeze, 
That  bears  its  perfumed  whispers  all  around. 
Beneath  its  trees  that  spread  their  blooming  light, 
The  spotted  leopard  walks  ;  the  ox  is  there ; 
The  yellow  lion  stands  in  conscious  might, 
Beneath  the  dewy  and  illumined  air. 
A  little  child  doth  take  him  by  the  mane, 
And  leads  him  forth,  and  plays  beneath  his  breast. 
Nought  breaks  the  quiet  of  that  blest  domain, 
Nought  mars  its  harmony  and  heavenly  rest : 
Picture  divine  and  emblem  of  that  day, 
When  peace  on  earth  and  truth  shall  hold  unbroken  sway 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XIII.)       THE    SOVEREIGN  WILL. 

["  Thou  hast  a  mighty  arm  ;  strong  is  thy  hand,  and  high  is  thy 
right  hand."     Psalm  Ixxxix.  13.] 

THERE  is  one  ruling  power,  one  sovereign  will, 
One  sum  and  centre  of  efficiency. 
'T  is  like  the  mystic  wheel  within  the  wheel 
The  prophet  saw  at  Chebar.     Its  decree 
Goes  from  the  centre  to  the  utmost  bounds 
Of  universal  nature.     Its  embrace 
And  penetrating  touch  pervades,  surrounds 
Whate'er  has  life  or  form  or  time  or  place. 
It  garnishes  the  heavens,  and  it  gives 
A  terror  and  a  voice  to  ocean's  wave. 
In  all  the  pure  and  gilded  heights  it  lives, 
Nor  less  in  earth's  obscurest,  deepest  cave. 
Around,  above,  below  its  might  is  known, 
Encircling  great  and  small,  the  footstool  and  the  throne. 


SCRIPTURE  SONNETS.  201 


(XIV.)   HE  STANDETH  AT  THE  DOOR. 

["  My  head  is  filled  with  dew,  and  my  locks  with  the  drops  of 
the  night."     Cant.  v.  2.] 

THE  stars  are  shining  from  their  depths  of  blue, 
And  one  is  standing  at  the  door  and  knocks ; 
He  knocks  to  enter  in.     His  raven  locks 
Are  heavy  with  the  midnight's  glittering  dew. 
He  is  our  FRIEND  ;  and  great  his  griefs  have  been, 
The  thorns,  the  cross,  the  garden's  deep  distress, 
Which  he  hath  suffered  for  our  happiness ; 
And  shall  we  not  arise,  and  let  him  in  ? 
All  hail,  thou  chosen  one,  thou  source  of  bliss ! 
Come  with  thy  bleeding  feet,  thy  wounded  side ; 
Alas,  for  us  Thou  hast  endured  all  this ; 
Enter  our  doors,  and  at  our  hearth  abide ! 
Chill  are  the  midnight  dews,  the  midnight  air ; 
Come  to  our  hearts  and  homes, and  make  thy  dwelling  there. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS, 


(XV.)       CONFIDENCE  IN    GOD    IN    BEREAVEMENTS. 

["  A  voice  was  heard  in  Ramah,  lamentation,  and  bitter  weep- 
ing ;  Rachel,  weeping  for  her  children,  refused  to  be  comforted  for 
her  children,  because  they  were  not."  Jer.  xxxi.  15.] 

WHY  has  my  child,  my  darling  child  departed  ? 
Why  has  my  God  in  wrath  that  loved  one  taken  1 
Leaving  me  desolate  and  broken-hearted, 
O'erwhelmed  and  prostrate,  hopeless  and  forsaken. 
And  is  it  all  in  wrath  that  I  am  smitten, 
And  pressed  with  burdens  heavy  to  be  borne  ? 
Hope  yet,  my  soul,  in  God,  for  he  hath  written 
With  his  own  finger,  blessed  are  they  who  mourn. 
Perhaps  I  loved  my  child  more  than  my  God, 
Neglecting  and  forgetting  every  other, 
And  He  in  mercy  sent  the  chastening  rod, 
And  took  away  the  child  to  save  the  mother. 
Farewell,  then,  earth  !     Why  should  I  look  below  ? 
I  too  will  take  my  staff,  and  weeping  heavenward  go. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  203 


(XVI.)       THE    LIGHT    OF    FAITH. 

["  These  all  died  in  faith,  not  having  received  the  promises,  but 
having  seen  them  afar  off,  and  were  persuaded  of  them,  and  em- 
braced them,  and  confessed  that  they  were  strangers  and  pilgrims 
on  the  earth."  Heb.  xi.  13.] 

THE  light  of  FAITH  doth  guide  us  kindly  on, 
Like  Israel's  cloud  by  day  and  fire  by  night. 
High  o'er  our  heads,  its  splendor  waxes  bright, 
When  every  other  blaze  is  dark  and  gone. 
By  FAITH  did  Noah  sail  upon  the  flood, 
By  FAITH  did  Abraham  offer  up  his  son ; 
By  FAITH  the  prophets  and  apostles  won 
A  crown  in  heaven,  on  earth  a  crown  of  blood. 
Their  journey  here  was  through  a  sea  of  flame  ; 
They  trod  it  fearless,  for  before  their  eye 
The  star  of  faith  shone  brightly  in  the  sky, 
And  showed  upon  each  beam  Christ's  blessed  name. 
Oh,  let  it  shine  for  us,  till  we,  as  they, 
Shall  climb  these  rugged  cliffs,  and  reach  the  hills  of  day. 


204 


SCRIPTURE     SONNETS. 


(XVII.)       MEEKNESS    OF    SPIRIT. 

["  Blessed  are  the  meek  ;  for  they  shall  inherit  the  earth.  Bless- 
ed are  the  peace  makers ;  for  they  shall  be  called  the  children  of 
God."  Mat.  v.  5,9.] 

WHEN  there  are  clouds  and  tempests  in  the  mind, 
And  peace  and  mercy  are  by  wrath  displaced, 
It  breaks  the  plan  of  love  which  heaven  designed, 
And  turns  the  blooming  garden  to  a  waste. 
Then  keep  thy  soul  in  peace  and  quietness, 
And  strive  each  evil  passion  to  restrain, 
And  God  will  smile  upon  thee,  and  will  bless, 
And  his  bright  image  in  thy  breast  maintain. 
He,  who  did  bow  his  blessed  head  in  woe, 
The  Saviour  of  the  meek  and  lowly  heart, 
Did  he  not  pray  for  those  who  struck  the  blow, 
And  bless  the  ruffian  hand  that  aimed  the  dart  ? 
Oh,  be  like  Him,  calm,  patient,  self-controlled, 
He,  who  can  rule  himself,  has  richer  wealth  than  gold. 


SCRIPTURE   SONNETS. 


(XVIII.)       GOD  ANGRY  WITH    REBELLIOUS  NATIONS. 

["  Therefore,  thus  saith  the  Lord  God,  I  will  even  rend  it  with  a 
stormy  wind  in  my  fury ;  and  there  shall  be  an  overflowing  shower 
in  mine  anger,  and  great  hail-stones  in  my  fury  to  consume  it." 
Ezek.  xiii.  13.] 

OH,  God !  when  nations  rise  against  thy  power, 
And  stand  with  haughty  and  rebellious  eye ; 
Then  do  the  angry,  muttering  thunders  lower, 
And  stormy  lightenings  cleave  the  trembling  sky. 
Oh,  who,  unscathed,  thy  vengeance  shall  defy, 
Thy  day  of  desolation,  blood,  and  flame  ? 
Jehovah  is  not  man,  that  he  should  lie, 
And  see  dishonor  put  upon  his  name, 
He  buried  haughty  Babylon  in  dust, 
E'en  his  beloved  Zion  felt  the  rod  ; 
There  is  no  hope,  no  confidence,  no  trust, 
But  in  the  favor  and  the  arm  of  God. 
His  friends  are  safe,  secure  from  every  foe, 
His  enemies  shall  bow,  and  fall  beneath  his  blow. 
17* 


206 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XIX.)       GOD    RIGHTEOUS    IN   JUDGMENTS. 

["Clouds  and  darkness  are  round  about  him;  righteousness 
and  judgment  are  the  habitation  of  his  throne."     Ps.  xcvii.  2.] 

SAD  is  my  heart,  embittered  with  deep  grief, 
E'en  as  a  bulrush  I  bow  down  my  head ; 
The  dark,  substantial  clouds  are  overspread, 
I  see  no  friendly  hand,  find  no  relief. 
No  more  I  taste  the  joys  which  once  I  tasted, 
My  hopes,  my  honors,  and  my  pleasures  flown ; 
There's  nought  on  earth  which  I  can  call  my  own  ; 
All  blackened,  withered,  torn  away,  and  wasted, 
And,  in  their  stead,  afflictive  tears  and  woe. 
Oh,  give  me  faith,  Thou  holy,  sovereign  Power, 
That  I  may  know  the  hand  that  smites  me  so. 
Oh,  give  me  faith,  when  the  dark  tempests  lower, 
To  yield  Thee  reverence  and  submission  due ; 
Thou  art  the  righteous  God,  thy  judgments  just  and  true. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  207 


(XX.)       CONSOLATION    IN    THE    GOSPEL". 

["  That  we  might  have  a  strong  consolation,  who  have  fled 
for  refuge  to  lay  hold  upon  the  hope  set  before  us  :  which  hope 
we  have  as  an  anchor  to  the  soul  both  sure  and  steadfast." 
Heb.  vi.  18,  19.] 

How  beautiful,  as  fades  the  gloom  of  night, 
How  beautiful  the  early  sunbeams  fall 
In  long  and  leveled  lines  of  light,  o'er  all 
The  wide  expanse  of  plain,  and  vale,  and  height, 
And  clothe  them  with  a  young  and  purple  bloom ! 
So,  when  my  heart  environed  is  with  sorrow, 
And  from  the  earth  no  ray  of  hope  can  borrow, 
The  Gospel's  glory  dissipates  its  gloom. 
That  Gospel  plants  a  sun  within  my  breast, 
Which  hath  the  power  to  change  dark  shades  to  day ; 
Unchanged,  unfailing,  it  transmits  its  ray, 
And  e'en  in  sorrow  makes  my  bosom  blest. 
The  vales  throw  off  their  shades,  the  mists  take  wing, 
The  flowers  unfold  their  leaves,  the  birds  start  up  and  sing. 


208  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XXI.)       THE    POOR    OP    THIS    WORLD    RICH    IN    CHRIST. 

["  And  he  lifted  up  his  eyes  on  his  disciples,  and  said,  Blessed 
be  ye  poor :  for  yours  is  the  kingdom  of  God."     Luke  vi.  20.] 

IN  yon  dark  forest  dwells  an  aged  man, 
Whose  hoary  beard  descending  sweeps  his  breast ; 
His  numerous  days  "  are  dwindled  to  a  span," 
He  waits  for  his  dismissal  and  his  rest. 
He  hath  no  worldly  wealth,  no  worldly  fame, 
But  inward  wealth  and  joys  of  soul  are  his ; 
For  he  doth  love  the  Saviour's  blessed  name, 
And  prayer  and  praising  constitute  his  bliss. 
In  every  evening  star  a  God  he  sees, 
In  the  wild  mountain  wind  a  God  he  hears, 
And  bending  to  the  earth  his  aged  knees, 
He  pours  his  prayer  into  Jehovah's  ears. 
His  soul  ascending  above  earthly  things, 
Finds  audience  high  in  heaven,  the  glorious  King  of  kings. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  209 


(XXH.)       STRENGTH    FROM    THE    CROSS. 

["  But  God  forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save  in  the  cross  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  by  whom  the  world  is  crucified  unto  me,  and  I 
unto  the  world."  Gal.  vi.  14.] 

OH,  who  shall  sing  the  joyful  song  at  last  ? 
Oh,  who  shall  raise  in  heaven  the  conqueror's  strain, 
O'er  foes  subdued,  and  inward  vices  slain, 
And  seasons  of  temptation  safely  passed  1 
'T  is  he,  who  counts  all  other  things  but  dross, 
When  put  into  the  scale  with  God's  dear  Son  ; 
Who  willingly  the  Christian  race  doth  run, 
And  fights,  and  toils,  and  conquers,  in  the  cross. 
The  cross  imparts  perennial  peace  within ; 
The  cross  resists  and  scatters  outward  foes ; 
'T  is  by  the  cross  the  saints  their  victories  win, 
And  rise  to  glory,  as  their  Saviour  rose. 
Then  heed  not  earthly  shame  nor  earthly  loss, 
But  count  it  all  for  good,  if  thou  may  'st  bear  the  cross. 


210  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XXIII.)       VANITY    OF    LIFE. 

["  As  for  man,  his  days  are  as  grass ;  as  a  flower  of  the  field,  so 
he  flourisheth.  For  the  wind  passeth  over  it,  and  it  is  gone  ;  and 
the  place  thereof  shall  know  it  no  more."  Ps.  ciii.  15,  16.] 

AND  they  are  gone,  the  friends  that  once  I  knew ; 
I  look  in  vain  to  find  them ;  low  and  still 
They  coldly  lie,  shut  out  from  human  view, 
And  from  the  joys  which  erst  their  breasts  could  fill. 
No  more  for  them  the  rosy  morn  shall  gleam, 
Nor  wild-bird  charm  their  ear  at  day's  sweet  close ; 
No  more  shall  friendship  soothe  life's  fevered  dream, 
And  love's  sweet  voice  allure  them  to  repose. 
But,  oh,  't  is  vain  to  murmur  or  bewail, 
Dwells  ought  on  earth,  that  long  on  earth  shall  be? 
The  columns  of  the  world  itself  shall  fail, 
Its  gorgeousness  shall  fade,  its  pomp  shall  flee. 
'T  is  a  small  thing  to  die,  if  we  shall  rise 
In  renovated  bliss,  unchanging  in  the  skies. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  211 


(XXIV.)      THE    RULER   OP   THE    NATIONS. 

["  The  nations  shall  rush  like  the  rushing  of  many  waters ;  but 
God  shall  rebuke  them,  and  they  shall  flee  far  off,  and  shall  be 
chased  as  the  chaff  of  the  mountains  before  the  wind,  and  like  a 
rolling  thing  before  the  whirlwind."  Is.  xvii.  13.] 

THERE  is  a  God,  whose  searching  eye  doth  look 
Into  the  hearts  of  private  men  and  kings ; 
Who  turns  the  nations,  as  the  running  brook, 
And  mighty  empires  to  subjection  brings. 
If  nations  to  his  will  and  ways  are  given, 
He  binds  them  fast  to  his  eternal  throne, 
But  scatters,  as  the  chaff  by  winds  is  driven, 
Such  as  forget  his  laws,  and  such  alone. 
See  Rome,  with  flags  unfurled  and  eagles  spread ! 
'T  was  virtue  made  her  powerful  at  first ; 
When  virtue  failed,  and  honor  bowed  its  head, 
An  angry  God  did  smite  her  to  the  dust, 
Sheer  from  her  seat  of  pride  and  empire  hurled, 
And  made  her  thence  the  scorn  and  hissing  of  the  world. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XXV.)       THE    PLACE    OF    REFUGE. 

["  A  man  shall  be  as  an  hiding  place  from  the  wind,  and  a 
covert  from  the  tempest."    Is.  xxxii.  2.] 

THE  clouds  are  gathering  in  the  distant  sky ; 
I  hear  the  fiercely  muttering  thunders  roll ; 
Terrors  invade  my  breast ;   my  trembling  soul 
Looks  forth  around,  but  sees  no  refuge  nigh. 
Ah,  whither  shall  I  flee  ?     What  friendly  hand 
Shall  guide  me  to  some  safe,  select  retreat, 
Where,  while  the  dark,  perpetual  tempests  beat, 
Unscathed,  uninjured,  I  may  safely  stand  ? 
He  comes !     He  comes !     I  see  the  platted  crown  ; 
I  see  the  bleeding  feet,  the  wounded  side. 
Now  let  the  bellowing  storm  rush  fiercely  down, 
Thy  smile  shall  comfort  me,  Thine  arms  shall  hide. 
With  Thee,  Thou  dear  Redeemer,  are  no  fears ; 
Thou  scatterest  all  my  doubts,  and  wipest  all  my  tears. 


SCRIPTURE  SONNETS.  213 


(XXVI.)       GOD    WORSHIPPED    IN    HIS    WORKS. 

["  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God :  and  the  firmament 
showeth  his  handy  work.  Day  unto  day  uttereth  speech,  and 
night  unto  night  showeth  knowledge.  There  is  no  speech  nor 
language,  where  their  voice  is  not  heard."  Ps.  xix.  1,  2,  3.] 

MEN  use  a  different  speech  in  different  climes, 
But  Nature  hath  one  voice  and  only  one. 
Her  wandering  moon,  her  stars,  her  golden  sun, 
Her  woods  and  waters,  in  all  lands  and  times, 
In  one  deep  song  proclaim  the  wondrous  story. 
They  tell  it  to  each  other  in  the  sky, 
Upon  the  winds  they  send  it  sounding  high, 
Jehovah's  wisdom,  goodness,  power,  and  glory. 
I  hear  it  come  from  mountain,  cliff,  and  tree, 
Ten  thousand  voices  in  one  voice  united ; 
On  every  side  the  song  encircles  me, 
The  whole  round  world  reveres  and  is  delighted. 
Ah !  why,  when  heaven  and  earth  lift  up  their  voice, 
Ah !  why  should  man  alone  nor  worship  nor  rejoice  ? 
18 


214  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XXVII.)       THE    HIDDEN    LIFE. 

["Set  your  affection  on  things  above,  not  on  things  on  the  earth. 
For  ye  are  dead,  and  your  life  is  hid  with  Christ  iu  God." 
Col.  iii.  2,  3.] 

MY  life  is  folded  in  the  life  of  Jesus, 
No  longer  mine,  but  purchased  by  that  tide, 
That  crimson  tide,  which  shed  on  Calvary,  frees  us 
From  those  dark  stains  that  in  our  hearts  abide. 
MY  LIFE  is  HID  WITH  CHRIST,  and  I  am  His. 
Whate'er  his  will,  that  am  I  bound  to  do; 
If  He  doth  call  me  to  far  lands  and  seas, 
I  hear  his  summons,  and  his  steps  pursue. 
Where'er  He  goes,  I  cannot  stay  behind ; 
In  what  He  does,  my  hand  shall  have  employ ; 
Whene'er  He  suffers,  sorrow  fills  my  mind ; 
When  He  rejoices,  I  partake  the  joy. 
He  bought  me  by  his  blood,  and  I  am  his ; 
I  have  no  other  will,  no  other  grief  nor  bliss. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  215 


(XXVIII.)       HELP    IN    THE    WILDERNESS. 

["  Who  is  this  that  coraeth  up  from  the  wilderness,  leaning  upon 
her  beloved  ? "     Cant.  viii.  5.] 

ALAS  !     We  travel  in  the  desert  now, 
Obscure  our  way,  perplexed  the  paths  we  tread ; 
With  thorns  and  briars  the  vales  are  overspread, 
The  mountains  fright  us  with  their  angry  brow. 
But  who  is  this  that  hears  us  in  distress, 
And  when  we  fear  we  ne'er  shall  travel  through, 
Doth  sudden  burst  upon  our  raptured  view, 
And  goes  before  us  in  the  wilderness  1 
The  Saviour  comes !     We  lean  upon  his  arm, 
And  resting  there,  find  strength  amid  our  woe ; 
The  tempests  cease,  that  filled  us  with  alarm, 
And  o'er  the  burning  plains  the  fountains  flow. 
No  more  the  storms  assail,  the  thunders  roll, 
But  angels'  songs  are  heard,  and  pleasures  fill  the  soul. 


216 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XXIX.)       TRUST    IN    THE    SAVIOUR. 

["  It  is  better  to  trust  in  the  Lord,  than  to  put  confidence  in 
man.  It  is  better  to  trust  in  the  Lord,  than  to  put  confidence  in 
princes."  Ps.  cxviii.  8,  9  ] 

IN  man,  estranged  and  weak,  put  not  thy  trust, 
Who,  like  the  "flower  of  grass,"  doth  pass  away. 
His  friendships,  like  himself,  shall  soon  decay, 
His  powers,  his  gifts,  his  promises  are  dust. 
But  there  is  one  in  whom  thou  canst  repose 
Unshaken  confidence,  who  will  impart 
Security  to  every  broken  heart, 
And  give  thee  victory  over  all  thy  foes. 
The  love  of  Jesus  Christ  will  never  fail, 
The  love  of  thy  Redeemer  ne'er  grow  cold. 
When  friends  are  faint,  and  enemies  wax  bold, 
Thou  shalt  arise,  and  in  his  strength  prevail. 
Gird  on  thine  armor ;  strive  in  Jesus'  name  ; 
In  that  and  that  alone  thou'lt  ne'er  be  put  to  shame. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  217 


(XXX.)       SUPPORT    IN    AFFLICTION. 

["God  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very  present  help  in  trouble. 
Therefore  will  not  we  fear,  though  the  earth  be  removed,  and 
though  the  mountains  be  carried  into  the  midst  of  the  sea.''  Ps. 
xlvi.  1,  2.] 

WHEN,  Father,  thou  dost  send  the  chastening  rod, 
Oh,  what  am  I,  that  I  should  dare  reply, 
Thy  love  arraign,  thy  righteousness  deny, 
And  set  the  creature  in  array  with  God  ? 
Far  be  it  from  my  soul  to  question  Thee, 
For  I  am  nought.     Be  this  my  only  prayer, 
That  I  may  have  due  strength  the  rod  to  bear, 
And  bless  the  hand  that  doth  environ  me. 
So  that,  what  time  the  outward  man  doth  perish, 
Smitten  with  many  stripes,  inflicted  deep, 
The  inward  man  renewed  hopes  may  cherish, 
And  high  above  the  storms  in  glory  sweep. 
We  sink  in  the  deep  waters ;  but  thy  hand 
Shall  hold  us  in  the  waves,  and  bring  us  safe  to  land. 
18* 


218  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XXXI.)       CHRISTIAN   BENEVOLENCE. 

["  "Which  now  of  these  three,  thinkest  thou,  was  neighbor  unto 
him  that  fell  among  the  thieves  ?  And  he  said,  He  that  showed 
mercy  on  him.  Then  said  Jesus  unto  him,  Go,  and  do  thou  like- 
wise." Luke  x.  36,  37.] 

WHO  is  my  BROTHER  ?     'T  is  not  merely  he, 
Who  hung  upon  the  same  loved  mother's  breast ; 
But  every  one,  whoever  he  may  be, 
On  whom  the  image  of  a  man  's  imprest. 
True  Christian  sympathy  was  ne'er  designed 
To  be  shut  up  within  a  narrow  bound  ; 
But  sweeps  abroad,  and  in  its  search  to  find 
Objects  of  mercy,  goes  the  whole  world  round. 
'T  is  like  the  sun,  rejoicing  east  and  west, 
Or  beautiful  rainbow,  bright  from  south  to  north  ; 
It  has  an  angel's  pinion,  mounting  forth 
O'er  rocks,  and  hills,  and  seas,  to  make  men  blest. 
No  matter  what  their  color,  name,  or  place, 
It  blesses  all  alike,  the  universal  race. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  219 


(XXXII.)       THE    BOOK    OP    JUDGMENT. 

["  And  I  saw  the  dead,  small  and  great,  stand  before  God ;  and 
the  books  were  opened ;  and  another  book  was  opened,  which  is  the 
book  of  life ;  and  the  dead  were  judged  out  of  those  things  which 
were  written  in  the  books,  according  to  their  works.1'  Rev.  xx. 
12.] 

WHERE  is  the  JUDGMENT  BOOK,  which  God  doth  keep  ? 
Where  is  the  record  he  hath  made  of  sin  ? 
So  that  at  last  it  shall  awake  from  sleep, 
And  legibly  appear  ?     It  is  within. 
The  Judgment  Book  is  every  man's  own  breast. 
This  is  the  tablet  God  hath  graved  upon ; 
More  lasting  is  the  stamp  that  's  there  impressed, 
Than  if  it  were  inscribed  on  wood  or  stone. 
The  wood  may  change  to  dust,  the  stone  may  break, 
And  what  is  written  there  at  last  decay  ; 
But  the  inscription,  which  the  soul  doth  take, 
Will  never,  through  all  ages,  waste  away. 
Men  may,  on  earth,  turn  from  this  book  their  sight, 
But  not,  when  made  to  gleam  in  the  great  Judgment  light. 


220  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XXXIII.)       THE  SOURCE  OF    HAPPINESS  IN  THE  SOUL. 

["  Keep  thy  heart  with  all  diligence  ;  for  out  of  it  are  the  issues 
of  life."     Prov.  iv.  23.] 

THE  soul  hath  power,  through  God's  mysterious  plan, 
To  mould  anew  and  to  assimilate 
The  outward  incidents  that  wait  on  man, 
And  make  them  like  his  hidden,  inward  state. 
If  there 's  a  storm  within,  then  all  things  round 
The  inward  storm  to  clouds  and  darkness  changes; 
But  inward  light  makes  outward  light  abound, 
And  o'er  external  things  in  beauty  ranges. 
If  but  the  soul  be  right,  submissive,  pure, 
It  stamps  whate'er  takes  place  with  peace   and  bliss ; 
If  fierce,  revengeful,  and  unjust,  't  is  sure 
From  outward  things  to  draw  unhappiness. 
Then  watch,  and  chiefly  watch,  the  inward  part, 
For  all  is  right  and  well,  if  there  's  a  holy  heart. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  221 


(XXXIV.)      DEATH    OP   A  YOUNG  CHRISTIAN. 

["  And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes  ;  and  there 
shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow,  nor  crying,  neither  shall 
there  be  any  more  pain :  for  the  former  things  are  passed  away." 
Rev.  xxi.  4.] 

LIKE  the  fair  flower,  that 's  cropped  in  early  spring, 
Hushed  is  thy  heart,  and  dimmed  thy  beauty's  bloom  ; 
T3ut  memory  still  around  thy  dust  shall  cling, 
Affection  haunt  thee  e'en  beyond  the  tomb. 
Though  clothed  in  light,  and  risen  to  joys  divine, 
Lost  to  the  world  and  all  its  empty  charms, 
Once  more  our  tears  would  freely  flow  with  thine, 
Once  more  we  'd  clasp  thee  fondly  to  our  arms. 
But,  oh,  forbear,  the  cherished  thought  forego, 
And  hush  to  peace  the  heart's  tumultuous  strife, 
Since  at  her  feet  the  sacred  waters  flow, 
And  waving  o'er  her  blooms  the  tree  of  life. 
If  this  sad  parting  fills  OUR  hearts  with  pain, 
To  HER  't  is  peace,  and  triumph,  and  immortal  gain. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XXXV.)       LIVING    NEAR    TO    CHRIST. 

["  For  our  conversation  is  in  heaven ;  from  whence  also  we  look 
for  the  Saviour,  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ."    Philip.  Hi.  20.] 

WHEN  the  bright  sun  is  nearest  to  the  earth, 
In  vernal  months  and  days  of  summer  bloom, 
The  buds  and  flowers  and  bending  fruits  have  birth, 
Instinct  with  life  and  beauty  and  perfume. 
And  so  the  man,  who  near  the  Saviour  lives, 
Finds  his  heart  kindling  'neath  that  radiant  face  ; 
The  cheering  light  and  heat  the  Saviour  gives, 
And  renovates  and  blesses  with  his  grace. 
But  if  the  Christian  keeps  himself  away, 
And  follows  Christ,  as  Peter  did,  far  off,* 
But  seldom  meditates,  nor  loves  to  pray, 
Or  meets,  on  doubtful  ground,  with  those  who  scoff, 
His  heart  grows  cold,  no  genial  ray  shall  bless, 
'T  will  be  Siberian  waste,  mere  ice  and  barrenness. 

*  At  the  time  of  hia  denying  the  Saviour.    See  Matt.  zzvi.  58. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  223 


(XXXVI.)      MEDITATING  ON    CHRIST. 

["  My  heart  was  hot  within  me  ;  while  I  was  musing,  the  fire 
burned  :  then  spake  I  with  my  tongue."     Ps.  xxxix.  3.] 

THY  heart  is  sad  ;  and  deeply  thou  complainest 
That  dull  and  wandering  thy  affections  prove, 
That  lingering  far,  so  often  thou  remainest 
Apart  from  Him,  who  claims  thy  highest  love. 
Oh,  meditate  Him  more,  and  the  world  less, 
At  morn  and  pensive  eve  give  Him  thy  thought, 
Recall,  how  He  hath  saved  thee,  and  doth  bless 
With  that  redemption,  which  his  life-blood  bought. 
Yes  !     Deeply  think,  till  thou  hast  deeply  felt ; 
When  thought  is  busy,  love  is  busy  too ; 
Oh,  think,  until  thy  stony  heart  doth  melt, 
Of  all  thy  Saviour  did,  and  yet  will  do ; 
How  he  hath  condescended,  suffered,  died, 
And  even  now  doth  clasp  thee  to  his  bleeding  side. 


224  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XXXVII.)      THE  GLIMPSE  OF  HEAVEN. 

["  But  now  they  desire  a  better  country,  that  is,  a  heavenly ; 
wherefore  God  is  not  ashamed  to  be  called  their  God :  for  he  hath 
prepared  for  them  a  city."  Heb.  xi.  16.] 

WHEN  on  some  voyage  of  trade  in  distant  seas, 
The  gallant  ship  has  ploughed  for  many  years, 
At  last,  with  sails  rejoicing  in  the  breeze, 
Her  own,  her  lovely  native  coast  she  nears ; 
The  hardy  sailors  look  from  deck  and  mast, 
Their  fathers'  hills  and  hamlets  to  descry; 
As  one  by  one  they  point  them  out,  full  fast 
Unwonted  tears  of  gladness  fill  the  eye  ; 
They  shout  with  joy ;  't  is  their  own  native  land ; 
Where  brothers,  sisters,  fathers,  grandsires  dwell. 
So,  when  the  Christian  on  life's  bounds  doth  stand, 
On  heaven's  bright  hills  his  eyes  with  fervor  dwell, 
His  blessed  Father's  home  is  in  his  sight, 
He  shouts  aloud  with  joy,  unspeakable  delight. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XXXVIII.)       THE    LAST    TRUMP. 

["  la  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  at  the  last  trump  : 
for  the  trumpet  shall  sound,  and  the  dead  shall  be  raised." 
1  Cor.  xv.  52.] 

WHEN  the  last  trump  shall  sound,  all  earth  shall  hear, 
The  sea's  wide  tumbling  waves  be  fixed  with  dread, 
The  startled  mountains  turn  their  iron  ear, 
The  hills  shall  flee  away,  and  hide  their  head. 
Leviathan  shall  plunge  into  his  cave, 
His  deepest  cave ;  the  lion  to  his  den  ; 
In  the  black  clouds  the  birds  their  wings  shall  wave, 
And  screaming  loud,  respond  the  cries  of  men ; 
And  men,  poured  forth  from  cot  and  splendid  hall, 
Shall  mingle  with  the  cattle  in  the  fields, 
While,  tost  and  breaking  at  the  trumpet's  call, 
The  rending  ground  beneath  their  footstep  yields. 
When  all  is  changing,  all  in  horror  mixed, 
The  Christian's  soul  remains  believing,  calm,  and  fixed. 
19 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(  XXXIX.)      THE    RESURRECTION. 

["It  is  sown  in  corruption,  it  is  raised  in  incorruption :  it  is 
sown  in  dishonor,  it  is  raised  in  glory :  it  is  sown  in  weakness,  it 
is  raised  in  power."  1  Cor.  xv.  42,  43.] 

SOMETIMES  my  heart,  too  prone  to  doubt,  will  say, 
How  can  the  cold  and  sleeping  dead  revive  ? 
Impossible,  that  mouldering  dust  and  clay 
Should  ever  with  an  angel's  beauty  live ! 
But  look  thou  forth  o'er  all  the  fragrant  earth, 
With  leaf  and  bud,  with  fruit  and  flowret  strown ; 
It  is  but  yesterday  they  all  had  birth, 
From  dust  produced,  from  foul  corruption  grown. 
And  cannot  God,  who  bids  the  grass  to  rise, 
Who  gives  the  leaf  its  shape,  the  flower  its  hue, 
Man's  fallen  clay  to  quickened  life  surprise, 
And  give  to  that  its  share  of  beauty  too ! 
Oh,  then,  thy  fears  dispel,  thy  doubts  repress, 
Nor  think  it  hard  for  God  to  raise,  adorn,  and  bless. 


SCRIPTURE  SONNETS.  227 


(XL.)   THE  TRUE  GROUND  OP  JOY. 

["  Notwithstanding,  in  this  rejoice  not,  that  the  spirits  are  sub- 
ject unto  you ;  but  rather  rejoice,  because  your  names  are  written 
in  heaven."  Luke  x.  20.] 

REJOICE  not  in  thy  wealth  of  house  and  fields, 
Nor  build  your  hopes  and  bliss  on  earthly  fame ; 
Earth  but  a  momentary  glory  yields, 
Its  brightest  joys  are  as  an  empty  name. 
Oh,  fix  no  fondness  there ;  't  will  prove  a  thorn ; 
Many,  that  deeply  loved,  have  deeply  rued 
Attachments  so  unworthy ;  and  they  warn 
Others  from  treading  where  their  feet  have  stood. 
The  Saviour  teaches  a  far  wiser  course, 
To  deem  it  glory,  not  that  we  possess 
Mere  wealth  or  power,  or  learning's  proud  resource, 
Which  mock  us  with  the  show  of  happiness ; 
But  that  we  have,  in  that  dread  Book  on  high, 
Our  names  inscribed  of  God,  in  words  that  never  die. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XLI.)       THE    PRIDE    OF    MAN    CONFOUNDED. 

["  And  he  saith  unto  him,  Friend,  how  earnest  thou  in  hither, 
not  having  a  wedding  garment?  And  he  was  speechless.1'  Matt, 
xxii.  12.] 

MEN  reason  oft  in  speech  magnificent 
Of  freedom,  fate,  fore-knowledge,  rectitude ; 
Puffed  up  with  pride,  their  rebel  breath  is  spent 
In  proving  God  unjust,  their  own  ways  good. 
With  microscopic  eye  His  works  they  scan, 
And  countless  ills  detect  which  they  could  mend ; 
(As  if  mere  dust  could  frame  a  better  plan,) 
And  thus  in  Atheist  madness  live  and  end. 
But  in  the  last  great  day,  when  Christ  shall  come, 
Girt  round  with  angel  bands  and  sainted  men, 
And  reckon  up  of  words  and  deeds  the  sum, 
Of  evil  deeds,  and  thoughts,  and  speech,  where  then 
Will  be  their  haughty  look,  their  captious  word? 
O'erwhelmed  and  dumb  they  stand ;  and  nought  but  grief 
is  heard. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  229 


(XLII.)       THE    PHYSICIAN    OF    THE    MIND. 

["  And  Jesus  answering,  said  unto  them,  They  that  are  whole 
need  not  a  physician ;  but  they  that  are  sick.  I  came  not  to  call 
the  righteous,  but  sinners  to  repentance."  Luke  v.  31.] 

HE  makes  the  deaf  to  hear,  the  blind  to  see, 
Restores  the  faint,  and  doth  the  bleeding  bind, 
But  shows  himself  more  strong  in  charity, 
In  healing  the  diseases  of  the  mind. 
Thou  sick  and  bowed  of  soul,  to  Jesus  go ! 
Tell  him  how  weak  and  how  diseased  the  heart, 
And  learn  how  he  compassionates  your  woe, 
And  plucks  the  spirit's,  as  the  body's  smart. 
He  quells  the  fears  that  throng  thee  and  annoy, 
With  brighter  views  the  intellect  doth  fill, 
Gives  strength  to  hope,  and  permanence  to  joy, 
And  aids  with  power  divine  the  doubting  will. 
Others  may  heal  the  body ;  Christ  makes  whole, 
(And  only  He  hath  power,)  the  crushed  and  fallen  soul. 
19* 


230 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XLIIl.)       SORROW    FOR    SIN. 

["I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father,  and  will  say  unto  him, 
Father,  I  have  sinned  against  heaven  and  before  thee,  and  am  no 
more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son."  Luke  xv.  18,  19.] 

IN  dust  and  ashes  let  me  humbled  lie, 
For  I  have  sinned  against  my  God  and  friend ; 
Nor  ever  upward  lift  my  troubled  eye, 
But  only  tears  let  fall  and  groanings  send. 
And  wilt  Thou  hear,  who,  merciful  as  just, 
Dost  pity  on  the  bleeding  bosom  take  ? 
Yes,  Thou  wilt  mark  the  suppliant  in  the  dust, 
The  bowed  and  bruised  reed  Thou  wilt  not  break ! 
Here  is  my  hope,  and  it  is  only  here ; 
For  I  have  sinned — how  much  God  only  knows ; 
Thy  law  have  broken,  put  away  thy  fear, 
And  caused  the  sneer  and  scoffings  of  thy  foes. 
Low  in  the  dust  my  worthless  head  I  lay, 
Till  God  shall  hear  my  prayer,  and  take  my  guilt  away. 


SCRIPTURE   SONNETS.  231 


(XLIV.)     CHRIST'S  YOKE  EASY. 

["  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor,  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest.  Take  my  yoke  upon  you,  and  learn  of  me  : 
for  I  am  meek  and  lowly  in  heart ;  and  ye  shall  find  rest  unto 
your  souls.' '  Matt.  xi.  28,  29.] 

WHERE  love  is  strong,  't  is  easy  to  obey ; 
'T  is  thus  the  grateful  and  devoted  child, 
Who  tends  his  aged  parents  night  and  day, 
Finds  all  his  labors  by  his  heart  beguiled. 
The  light  of  love  can  make  deep  darkness  bright, 
And  change  a  bed  of  thorns  to  beds  of  roses ; 
'T  is  love,  celestial  love,  that  makes  so  light 
The  yoke,  which  Jesus  on  his  friends  imposes. 
Prompted  by  this,  with  ready  will  and  hand, 
They  follow  in  the  path,  which  He  hath  trod  ; 
Revere  alike  his  life  and  his  command, 
And  bow  with  gratitude  beneath  his  rod. 
Nothing  is  grievous  which  he  bids  to  do ; 
Where  love  inspires  the  heart,  life,  hope,  and  strength  are 
new. 


232 


SCRIPTURE     SONNETS. 


(XLV.)       LOVE  OF    THE  WORLD. 

["  For  what  is  a  man  profited,  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and 
lose  his  own  soul  ?  or  what  shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his 
soul  ?"  Matt.  xvi.  26.] 

WHY  should  we  love  the  world?     Why  thus  bestow 
Affections  on  its  perishable  toys, 
And  while  we  seek  for  pleasures  mean  and  low, 
Deprive  our  souls  of  high  and  holy  joys  ? 
Is  not  God  jealous  1     Will  he  let  us  cling 
So  fondly  to  the  things  below  the  skies, 
And  nought  but  cold  and  heartless  offerings  bring 
To  the  All-good,  All-perfect,  and  All-wise  ? 
Oh,  break  the  tie,  that  doth  so  closely  bind 
The  groveling  thought  and  vain  desires  to  earth  ; 
And  let  the  rapt,  emancipated  mind 
Soar  to  the  better  region  of  its  birth, 
And  feed  on  angel's  food.     Let  God  supply, 
And  his  divine  perfections,  joys  that  never  die. 


SCRIPTURE  SONNETS.  233 


(XLVI.)       I  SHALL  YET  PRAISE  HIM. 

["  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  Oh  my  soul  ?  And  why  art  thou 
disquieted  within  me  !  Hope  thou  in  God,  for  I  shall  yet  praise 
him,  who  is  the  health  of  my  countenance,  and  my  God."  Ps.  xlii. 
11.] 

AT  that  dim  hour,  when  ploughmen  first  arise, 
Roused  from  their  homely  couch  and  deep  repose, 
When  stars  still  linger  in  the  changing  skies, 
And  in  the  East  the  dawning  feebly  glows, 
'T  is  doubtful  long,  which  of  the  two  bears  sway, 
The  nascent  day  or  unextinguished  night, 
Till  ruddy  morn,  at  length,  with  bright  array, 
Proclaims  the  triumph  of  victorious  Light. 
So  when  there  breaks  upou  the  heart's  domain 
The  Light  Divine,  which  mars  the  shades  within, 
Oh,  who  can  tell  which  of  the  two  shall  reign, 
The  recent  purity  or  ancient  sin  1 
And  yet  the  inward  Light,  like  outward  day, 
Shall  shine,  revealed  at  last,  with  a  triumphant  ray. 


234  SQRIPTUHE     SONNETS^ 


(XL VII.)       A    DIVIDED  MIND. 

["For  where  your  treasure  is,  there  will  your  heart  be  also.  The 
light  of  the  body  is  the  eye ;  if  therefore  thine  eye  be  single,  thy 
whole  body  shall  be  full  of  light.  But  if  thine  eye  be  evil,  thy 
whole  body  shall  be  full  of  darkness."  Mat.  vi.  21,  22,  23.] 

OH,  that  I  had  not  this  divided  heart, 
A  mind,  self-sundered,  and  at  war  within ; 
Which  gives,  or  seems  to  give,  to  heaven  a  part, 
But  gives,  alas,  a  greater  part  to  sin. 
Sometimes  I  think  the  victory  to  gain, 
And  plant  my  standard  on  the  heavenly  height; 
But  suddenly  imperious  passions  reign, 
And  put  my  faithfulness  and  hopes  to  flight. 
My  conscience  prompts  me  to  the  better  way, 
The  Holy  Spirit  makes  it  still  more  clear, 
But  foul  temptation  leads  my  steps  astray, 
And  Heaven  is  lost,  because  the  World  is  dear. 
'T  is  He  in  triumph  and  in  peace  shall  run, 
The  Christian's  trying  race,  whose  heart,  whose  soul,  is  one. 


SCRIPTURE   SONNETS.  235 


(XLVIII.)      SUBMISSION  IN   SICKNESS. 

["  It  is  good  that  a  man  should  both  hope  and  quietly  wait  for  the 
salvation  of  the  Lord."  Lam.  iii.  26.  "  Behold,  we  count  them 
happy  which  endure.  Ye  have  heard  of  the  patience  of  Job,  and 
have  seen  the  end  of  the  Lord,  that  the  Lord  is  very  pitiful  and  of 
tender  mercy."  James  v.  11.] 

GOD  gives  to  each  his  task  ;  but  what  is  mine? 
What  work  doth  he  require  of  one  like  me  ? 
Who,  grieving,  on  the  couch  of  sickness  pine, 
And  know  no  hours  but  those  of  misery. 
By  others  I  am  tended.     Would  I  go 
To  feed  the  poor,  or  unto  heathen  lands, 
Here  am  I  fastened  on  this  bed  of  woe, 
With  feet  that  walk  not,  and  with  moveless  hands. 
'T  was  thus  I  cherished  wicked  discontent, 
And  inly  blamed  Jehovah's  righteous  ways, 
When  suddenly  a  voice,  in  mercy  sent, 
Reproves  my  striving  heart,  and  gently  says  : 
If  thou  indeed  for  nothing  else  art  fit, 
This  work  at  least  is  thine,  in  patience  to  submit. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(XLIX.)       LIGHT    IN  GOSHEN. 

["  And  Moses  stretched  forth  his  hand  towards  heaven ;  and 
there  was  a  thick  darkness  in  all  the  land  of  Egypt,  three  days. 
They  saw  not  one  another,  neither  rose  any  from  his  place  for  three 
days  ;  but  all  the  children  of  Israel  had  light  in  their  dwellings.'' 
Exodus,  x.  22,  23.] 

In  ancient  times,  when  God  in  anger  came, 
And  troubled  Egypt  with  his  mighty  hand, 
The  rayless  sun  withdrew  his  midday  flame, 
And  clouds  and  darkness  filled  the  sightless  land. 
But  there  was  light  in  Goshen.    On  it  lay, 
On  pleasant  hill  and  vale,  and  flower  and  tree, 
The  moon's  resplendent  beam,  the  sunlight's  ray, 
The  free  stars,  singing  in  their  liberty. 
Thus  is  it  now.     God's  people  walk  in  light, 
With  changeless  day  to  cheer  them  and  to  guide ; 
But  o'er  the  godless  throng  reigns  Egypt's  night, 
The  sun  and  moon  and  stars  their  radiance  hide. 
'T  is  God,  whose  glorious  light  is  never  dim, 
Illuminates  the  host,  that  faithful  follow  him. 


SCRIPTURE  SONNETS.  237 


(L.)   THE  VOYAGE. 

["  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee  j 
and  through  the  rivers  they  shall  not  overflow  thee."  Isa.  xliii.  2.] 

FAIR  stream,  embosomed  in  yon  pleasant  vale, 
That  in  thy  quiet  beauty  sweep'st  along ! 
How  oft  I  skimmed  thee  with  my  slender  sail, 
How  oft  I  poured  upon  thy  banks  my  song  ! 
'T  was  then  I  marked  the  autumn's  blushing  leaves 
Sink,  wafted  slowly  in  the  quiet  air ; 
Thy  silver  wave  the  roseate  gift  receives, 
And  hastes  its  treasure  to  the  deep  to  bear. 
So  man  shall  pass,  borne  on  the  stream  of  time, 
A  moment  seen,  and  seen,  alas,  no  more. 
Dark  is  the  wave ;  and  distant  is  the  clime ; 
But  lift,  in  strength  divine,  the  struggling  oar  ; 
And  then,  thou  wanderer  of  life's  troubled  sea, 
Nor  angry  storm,  nor  rocks,  nor  wave,  shall  injure  Thee. 
20 


238 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LI.)       THE    GRAVE    OF    THE    BEAUTIFUL. 

["  So  also  is  the  resurrection  of  the  dead.  It  is  sown  in  corrup- 
tion ;  it  is  raised  in  incorruption :  it  is  sown  in  dishonor ;  it  is 
raised  in  glory :  it  is  sown  in  weakness ;  it  is  raised  in  power." 
1  Cor.  xv.  42,  43.] 

WHERE,  near  yon  river's  brink,  the  willows  wave, 
And  summer's  flowers  to  golden  life  have  sprung  ; 
Is  dimly  seen  the  village  maiden's  grave, 
Forever  gone,  the  beautiful  and  young. 
The  boatman  turns  to  that  sad  spot  his  eye, 
When  o'er  the  wave  his  lingering  sail  is  spread, 
And  see,  when  sunset  gilds  the  pictured  sky, 
Her  sister  maids  draw  near  with  silent  tread. 
Alas,  how  oft  the  gems  of  earth  grow  pale, 
And  stars,  that  blessed  us,  dim  their  rising  ray ! 
But  not  in  vain  their  beauty  do  they  veil, 
And  see  their  earthly  glory  pass  away. 
For  beauty  here,  they  snatch  immortal  bloom, 
And  light,  eternal  light,  doth  blossom  on  the  tomb. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LI!.)        THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGRIM. 

["  These  all  died  in  faith,  not  having  received  the  promises,  but 
having  seen  them  afar  off,  and  were  persuaded  of  them,  and  em- 
braced them,  and  confessed  that  they  were  strangers  and  pilgrims 
on  the  earth."  Heb.  xi.  13.] 

FAREWELL,  my  native  country  !     Thy  bright  star, 
Thy  sky,  green  woods,  clear  waters,  no  more  greet 
Mine  eye  delighted.     But  with  pilgrim  feet, 
In  waste  and  horrid  lands,  I  wander  far. 
I  wander  far,  unknown,  but  not  dismayed ; 
I  leave  my  native  country ;  but  my  soul, 
Unmoved,  unshaken,  in  its  purpose  whole, 
On  higher  power,  than  aught  of  earth,  is  stayed. 
My  God  shall  be  my  country  !     I  will  call, 
And  he  will  hear  me  in  the  desert  place. 
When  troubles  come,  before  his  feet  I  fall, 
And  then  he  sheds  the  sunshine  of  his  grace. 
On  Afric's  arid  sands,  on  Asia's  plain, 
On  Greenland's  ice-bound  coast,  no  prayer  to  Him  is  vain. 


240  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LIU.)       DESPISE    NOT    THE    BEGINNINGS. 

["  The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  like  to  a  grain  of  mustard-seed 
which  a  man  took  and  sowed  in  his  field ;  which  indeed  is  the 
least  of  all  seeds  ;  but  when  it  is  grown,  it  is  the  greatest  among 
herbs,  and  becometh  a  tree."  Matt.  xiii.  31,  32.] 

SEE,  how  beyond  the  hills,  the  morning  bright 
Doth  write  its  coming  with  a  single  ray ; 
But  gleam  is  joined  to  gleam,  and  light  to  light, 
Till  feeblest  dawn  expands  to  perfect  day. 
Despise  not  the  beginnings.     When  the  heart 
Receives,  however  small,  the  primal  beam, 
Which  God  doth  to  the  new-born  soul  impart, 
Revere  and  cherish  its  incipient  gleam. 
Though  the  first  ray  from  Heaven's  eternal  throne, 
The  frail  young  shoot  from  Glory's  morning  star, 
Yet  fostered  well,  it  dwelleth  not  alone, 
But  grows  in  its  own  light,  and  shineth  far, 
And  bindeth  ray  with  ray,  till  what  was  one, 
Compacted  of  itself,  expands  a  new-born  sun. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  241 


(LIV.)       UNCERTAINTY    OF    EARTHLY    OBJECTS. 

["  As  for  man,  his  days  are  as  grass  ;  as  a  flower  of  the  field 
so  he  flourisheth.  For  the  wind  passeth  over  it,  and  it  is  gone ; 
and  the  place  thereof  shall  know  it  no  more."  Ps.  ciii.  15, 16.] 

As  fall  the  trees  upon  the  mountain's  side, 
As  shoot  the  stars  upon  a  cloudless  night, 
So  pass  the  hopes,  that  foster  human  pride, 
With  meteor  glance,  with  dim  disastrous  flight. 
How  frail  the  fairest  shoots  of  earthly  love ! 
The  death  of  fathers,  children,  brothers,  friends, 
While  it  afflicts,  doth  oft  and  deeply  prove 
The  vanity  of  earthly  joys  and  ends. 
We  lean  upon  a  prop,  that  hath  no  strength ; 
We  rest  upon  an  arm,  that  hath  no  power ; 
We  trust  it  long  and  fondly ;  but  at  length, 
It  falls  and  blasts  us  in  the  evil  hour. 
But  time,  nor  tide,  nor  earth,  nor  hell,  can  harm 
Him  that  doth  firmly  rest  on  God's  eternal  arm. 
20* 


242  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LV.)       GOD    NO    RESPECTER    OF    PERSONS. 

["My  brethren,  have  not  the  faith  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the 
Lord  of  Glory,  with  respect  of  persons."  "  Hearken,  my  beloved 
brethren,  Hath  not  God  chosen  the  poor  of  this  world,  rich  in 
faith,  and  heirs  of  the  kingdom,  which  he  hath  promised  to  them 
that  love  him?"  James  ii.  1,  5.] 

BEHOLD  yon  poor  old  man,  that  plods  along, 
Sadly  and  slowly  in  the  crowded  street. 
How  beggarly !     Of  those  whom  he  doth  meet, 
Scarce  one  doth  note  him  in  that  countless  throng. 
The  very  winds  make  sport  of  him,  and  rend 
His  tattered  garments  rude.     Yet  do  not  deem, 
That  he  is  all  so  lost,  as  he  doth  seem. 
Though  all  desert  him  else,  he  hath  one  friend. 
There  is  a  God,  who  hath  an  equal  eye, 
Who  marks  the  high,  nor  spurns  the  lowly  one ; 
The  wretched,  whom  the  world  pass  scornfully, 
May  be  the  blood-bought  purchase  of  his  Son. 
He  deeper  looks  than  the  outside  of  things ; 
The  beggar's  soul  to  Him  is  as  the  soul  of  kings. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  243 


LVI.         THE  FOUNTAIN  OP    JERUSALEM. 

["  In  that  day  there  shall  be  a  fountain  opened  to  the  house  of 
David  and  to  the  inhabitants  of  Jerusalem  for  sin  and  for  unclean- 
ness."  Zech.  xiii.  1.  "  Wash  me  thoroughly  from  mine  iniquity, 
and  cleanse  me  from  my  sin."  Ps.  li.  2.] 

PURE  are  thy  waves,  Abana,  as  they  rove 
Through  Syria's  blooming  plains ;  and  Parphar  too 
Reflects  from  his  bright  breast  the  vernal  hue 
Of  citron  bud,  and  pendent  orange  grove. 
And  Jordan's  stream,  less  bright,  had  yet  the  power 
To  wash  away  the  leprosy's  foul  stain. 
But  taken  the  soul  is  sick,  to  cleanse  again, 
And  make  it  pure,  as  in  its  primal  hour, 
What  earthly  wave  hath  virtue  ?     What  bright  stream 
Can  wash  it  from  its  blackness,  and  the  tint, 
Long-lost,  of  angel  purity  imprint, 
To  light  and  life  and  happiness  redeem  ? 
One  fount  alone  can  do  it.     There's  salvation 
In  Jesus'  blood  alone,  for  man,  and  tribe,  and  nation. 


244  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


LVH.         PARENTAL    BEREAVEMENT. 

["Humble  yourselves,  therefore,  under  the  mighty  hand  of  God, 
that  He  may  exalt  you  in  due  time  ;  casting  all  your  care  upon 
Him,  for  He  careth  for  you."  1  Peter,  v.  6,  7.] 

I  'VE  lost  my  loved,  my  cherished  little  one, 
Who  smiling,  prattling,  clasped  her  Father's  knee. 
Alas  !     Her  transient  hour  of  life  is  run, 
And  her  sweet  tone  and  smile  are  nought  to  me. 
The  grave  hath  claimed  her.     Oft  I  seem  to  hear 
Her  blessed  voice  charming  the  vacant  air. 
I  listen ;  but  my  own  fond  fancy's  ear 
Frames  the  sweet  sound.     My  loved  one  is  not  there. 
Onward,  to  where  yon  green  tree  waves  its  shade, 
I  look,  when  summer's  sultry  sun  is  high  ; 
There,  in  her  days  of  life  and  health,  she  played ; 
In  vain  I  thither  turn  my  weeping  eye. 
God  in  his  mercy  took  her ;  and  't  is  mine 
To  feel  his  ways  are  right,  nor  let  my  heart  repine. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  245 


LVHI.         I    WOULD    NOT    ALWAYS  LIVE. 

["  So  that  my  soul  chooseth  strangling  ;  and  death  rather  than 
my  life.  I  loalh  it ;  I  would  not  live  always  ;  let  me  alone  ;  for 
my  days  are  vanity.  What  is  man,  that  thou  shouldest  magnify 
him,  and  that  thou  shouldest  set  thy  heart  upon  him?"  Job 
vii.  15,  17.] 

I  WOULD  NOT  ALWAYS  LIVE.     There  's  something  here, 
In  this  lone  world  of  sorrow  and  of  sin  ; 
To  which  the  purer  heart,  to  virtue  dear, 
Finds  no  response,  no  sympathy  within. 
As  when  the  rising  sun  dispels  the  cloud, 
And  spreads  its  glory  o'er  the  dazzled  sky, 
So  shall  the  mind  cast  off  its  moral  shroud, 
And  bask  in  brightness,  when  it  mounts  on  high. 
That  is  its  home  ;  its  high  congenial  place  ; 
'Tis  there,  that,  fitted  with  unearthly  wings, 
The  spirit,  running  its  eternal  race, 
And  mounting  ever  up,  triumphant  sings. 
I  would  not  always  live.     Hail  glorious  day, 
Which  gives  us  heavenly  life,  and  takes  our  house  of  clay. 


246  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LIX.)       MYSTERY  OF  THE  NEW  BIRTH. 

['•'  Marvel  not,  that  I  said  unto  thee,  ye  must  be  born  again.  The 
wind  bloweth,  where  it  listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof, 
but  canst  not  tell,  whence  it  cometh  and  whiiher  it  goeth.  So  is 
every  one,  that  is  born  of  the  Spirit."  John  iii.  7, 8.] 

I  HEAR  the  mountain  wind,  but  see  it  not ; 
Its  mournful  sigh  startles  my  mind's  repose  ; 
I  listen ;  but  it  passes  quick  as  thought ; 
I  know  not  whence  it  comes,  nor  where  it  goes. 
'T  is  thus  with  those,  who  of  the  Spirit  are  born, 
A  change  comes  o'er  them  ;  how  they  cannot  say. 
They  wake,  as  from  the  darkness  wakes  the  morn, 
And  mental  night  is  changed  to  mental  day. 
'T  is  God's  mysterious  work.     'T  is  He  can  find, 
Deep  searching,  and  't  is  He  can  touch 
The  deep  and  hidden  spring  that  rules  the  mind, 
And  change  its  tendencies,  and  make  it  such, 
Redeemed,  restored,  as  it  was  not  before. 
We  know  that 't  is  God's  work ;  but  we  can  know  no  more. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  247 


(LX.)       LIGHT. 

["  Light  is  sown  for  the  righteous,  and  gladness  for  the  upright 
in  heart."  Ps.  xcvii.  2.  "  That  ye  should  show  forth  the  praises 
of  Him,  who  hath  called  you  out  of  darkness  into  his  marvellous 
light."  1  Peter  ii.  9.] 

THE  sower  sows  his  seed  for  the  upright. 
In  good  and  consecrated  soil  't  is  laid  ; 
He  plants  the  sunbeam,  sows  celestial  light, 
That,  rising,  scatters  far  all  gloom,  all  shade. 
See,  how  it  comes  over  the  distant  mountains, 
Gilding  the  East,  rejoicing  in  the  West ; 
Not  separate  streams,  but  gushing  forth  in  fountains, 
Shedding  its  rays  around  the  ransomed  breast. 
Lift  up  thine  eye ;  the  sons  of  God  behold  ; 
No  clouds  are  near  them ;  but  on  every  side 
Flow  rivers,  as  it  were,  instinct  with  gold, 
Mingling  and  crossing  in  one  endless  tide. 
Visions  of  glory  fill  their  raptured  sight ; 
Their  element,  their  home,  is  light,  celestial  light. 


248  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


LXI.         CONSTANCY. 

["  Stand,  therefore,  with  your  loins  girt  about  with  truth,  and 
having  on  the  breast-plate  of  righteousness."    Ephes.  vi.  14.] 

BOUGHT  by  Christ's  blood,  and  to  the  purchase  true, 
The  Christian  runs  with  cheerfulness  the  race, 
Which  God  in  wisdom  hath  seen  fit  to  trace, 
Nor  turns  some  other  object  to  pursue, 
Nor  slacks  his  steadfast  course.     Sometimes  he  sees 
Fires  in  his  path,  or  hears  the  serpent's  breath, 
Or  raging  men  with  implements  of  death, 
But  still  goes  on ;  nor  like  the  coward  flees. 
The  road  is  strait  and  narrow ;  if  he  turns, 
Ruin  awaits  him ;  if  he  onward  goes, 
With  face  erect  and  heart  with  love  that  burns, 
However  great  the  obstacles,  he  knows, 
That  God,  who  hath  all  power,  all  things  can  do, 
Will  guard  him  in  his  straits,  and  bear  him  glorious  through. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


LXH.         POWER    OP    FAITH. 

["Who  through  faith  subdued  kingdoms,  wrought  righteousness, 
obtained  promises,  stopped  the  mouths  of  lions,  quenched  the  vio- 
lence of  fire,  escaped  the  edge  of  the  sword,  out  of  weakness  were 
made  strong,  waxed  valiant  in  fight,  turned  to  flight  the  armies  of 
the  aliens."  Heb.  xi.  33,  34.] 

I  SAT  me  down  in  earth's  benighted  vale, 
And  had  no  courage  and  no  strength  to  rise  ; 
Sad  to  the  passing  breeze  I  told  my  tale, 
And  bowed  my  head,  and  drained  my  weeping  eyes. 
But  Faith  came  by,  and  took  me  by  the  hand ; 
And  now  the  vallies  rise,  the  mountains  fall. 
Welcome  the  stormy  sea,  the  dangerous  land ! 
With  Faith  to  aid  me,  I  can  conquer  all. 
Faith  lays  her  hand  upon  the  lion's  mane ; 
Faith  fearless  walks  within  the  serpent's  den ; 
Faith  smiles  amid  her  children  round  her  slain ; 
When  worlds  are  burning,  cries  unmoved,  AMEN. 
Yes,  I  am  up,  far  upward  on  the  wing ; 
The  withered  arm  is  strong,  the  broken  heart  doth  sing. 
21 


SCRIPTURE     SONNETS. 


THE    WRECK. 

["  And  these  shall  go  away  into  everlasting  punishment ;  but 
the  righteous  into  life  eternal."     Matt.  xxv.  46.] 

I  SAW  a  wreck  upon  the  ocean  flood. 
How  sad  and  desolate !     No  man  was  there ; 
No  living  thing  was  on  it.     There  it  stood  j 
Its  sails  all  gone ;  its  masts  were  standing  bare ; 
Tossed  in  the  wide,  the  boundless,  howling  sea. 
The  very  sea-birds  screamed,  and  passed  it  by. 
And  as  I  looked,  the  ocean  seemed  to  be 
A  sign  and  figure  of  Eternity. 
The  wreck  an  emblem  seemed  of  those,  that  sail 
Without  the  pilot  Jesus,  on  its  tide. 
Thus  thought  I,  when  the  final  storms  prevail, 
Shall  rope,  and  sail,  and  mast  be  scattered  wide ; 
And  they,  with  helm  and  anchor  lost,  be  driven, 
In  endless  exile  sad,  far  from  the  port  of  Heaven. 


SCRIPTURE  SONNETS.  251 


(LXIV.)       RELIGIOUS    RECOLLECTIONS. 

["  I  will  meditate  in  thy  precepts,  and  have  respect  unto  thy 
ways.  I  will  delight  myself  in  thy  statutes.  I  will  not  forget  thy 
word."  Ps.  cxix.  15,  16.] 

I  HAD  sweet  thoughts  of  Christ  beneath  yon  tree ; 
Beside  that  chrystal  brook  I  talked  with  God ; 
As  o'er  yon  mountain's  craggy  height  I  trod, 
The  echoes  from  the  valley  seemed  to  be, 
And  the  delighted  songs  of  the  sweet  birds, 
All  blessing  their  Creator.     Winds  and  waterfall 
Spoke  forth  their  eloquent  praise,  as  well  as  all 
The  companies  of  lambs  and  lowing  herds. 
Sweet  is  the  memory  of  those  blessed  days ! 
Oh,  that  my  life  with  such  were  sprinkled  o'er ; 
And  thus  their  recollection  should  restore, 
In  my  own  bosom,  love,  and  hope,  and  praise. 
Happy  the  soul,  that  from  the  past  can  borrow 
A  foretaste  of  the  land,  the  land  that  knows  no  sorrow. 


252  SCRIPTURE     SONNETS. 


(LXV.)       DEPRAVITY    OF   THE    HEART. 

["  And  God  saw  that  the  wickedness  of  man  was  great  in  the 
earth,  and  that  every  imagination  of  the  thoughts  of  his  heart  was 
only  evil  continually."  Gen.  vi.  5.  "  The  heart  is  deceitful  above 
all  things,  and  desperately  wicked.  Who  can  know  it? "  Jer. 
xvii.  9.] 

HOLD  to  thy  heart  the  mirror  of  God's  law, 
And  with  its  aid  examine  what's  within. 
Look  deeply  down,  yet  deeper ;  and  with  awe 
And  terror  thou  shalt  see  the  depths  of  sin. 
Yes,  't  is  a  great,  unfathomable  deep, 
An  ocean  without  soundings,  without  shore. 
When  the  dark  waves  pass  off,  still  darker  sweep, 
And  take  the  place  of  those  that  went  before. 
Blackness  succeeding  blackness ;  each  abyss 
Opening  to  others ;  till  the  straining  eye 
Is  lost  in  fathomless  deformity, 
And  the  ear  stunned  with  roaring ;  for  it  is 
A  sea  that  hath  a  voice ;  yes,  voice  is  there  ; 
Wailing  and  mournful  cry,  revenge  and  deep  despair. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


253 


LXVI.         PROTECTION    IN    DANGER. 

["Fire  and  hail;  snow  and  vapor ;  stormy  wind,  fulfilling  his 
word."  Ps.  cxlviii.  8.  "What  manner  of  man  is  this!  For  he 
commandeth  even  the  winds  and  water,  and  they  obey  him." 
Luke  viii.  25.] 

I  HEAR  the  moaning  of  the  wintry  wind, 
That  sweeps  across  the  dreary  waste  of  snow ; 
It  moves  my  soul  like  human  voice  unkind, 
Or  wailings  from  some  darkened  house  of  woe. 
But  I  bethink  me.     [n  that  sullen  sound, 
There  is  a  voice,  which  better  import  brings. 
The  wind,  as  well  as  ocean,  knows  its  bound, 
And  hath  its  mandate  from  the  King  of  kings. 
He  rules  the  storm,  e'en  in  its  wildest  mood, 
And  binds  its  strength,  and  tempers  well  its  shock, 
When  rushing  from  the  hills  with  onset  rude, 
It  threatens  wide  the  forest  and  the  flock. 
'T  is  thus  he  folds  his  people  in  his  arm, 
Wipes  every  falling  tear,  and  hushes  each  alarm. 
21* 


254  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


["Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  hea- 
ven. Blessed  are  the  meek;  for  they  shall  inherit  the  earth." 
Matt.  v.  3,  5.] 

THE  noisy  brook,  that  from  yon  mountain  flows, 
Dashing  o'er  cliffs  like  bird  upon  the  wing, 
How  useless  !     Not  a  bud  or  floweret  grows 
On  its  rude  banks,  nor  aught  of  living  thing. 
But  look  to  yon  bright  meadow.     Scarcely  seen 
The  silent  streamlet  winds  its  gentle  way, 
Enriching  as  it  goes ;  its  banks  are  green ; 
Birds  sing  there  ;   and  the  flowers  their  charms  display. 
And  so  with  Christians.     Such  as  shall  be  found 
Possessors  of  a  meek  and  quiet  heart, 
From  their  own  pure  and  inward  fount  impart 
Riches  to  others,  blessing  all  around. 
The  world  scarce  notes  them  as  they  gently  go, 
But  bud,  and  flower,  and  fruit  their  pathway  brightly  show. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  255 


(LXVIII.)     THE  CHRISTIAN'S  CONFIDENCE  IN  GOD. 

["  Cast  not  away,  therefore,  your  confidence,  which  hath  great 
recompense  of  reward ;  for  ye  have  need  of  patience,  that,  after  ye 
have  done  the  will  of  God,  ye  might  receive  the  promise.'7  Heb. 
x.  36,  36.] 

THERE  is  a  flower,  that  with  the  sun  doth  turn, 
Watching  from  morn  to  eve  with  faithful  eye 
The  mighty  orb,  as  it  doth  constant  run 
Its  course  of  glory  o'er  the  beaming  sky. 
And  when  the  sun  at  times  conceals  his  face, 
And  round  his  path  a  night  of  clouds  doth  pour, 
Not  less  that  flower  his  cloudy  track  will  trace, 
And  turn,  and  look,  and  worship  as  before. 
Thus  doth  the  Christian  to  his  Father  look, 
Still  upward,  from  the  morn  till  eventide  ; 
And  yet  he  doth  not  deem  himself  forsook, 
When  shades  and  clouds  the  heavenly  vision  hide. 
Patient  he  looks,  until  the  light  divine, 
Upon  his  heart  once  more,  his  constant  heart  shall  shine. 


256  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LXIX.)       I    WILL  NOT    BLAME  THY  TEARS. 

["He,  that  goeth  forth  and  weepeth,  bearing  precious  seed,  shall 
doubtless  come  again  with  rejoicing,  bringing  his  sheaves  with 
him."  Ps.  cxxvi.  6.] 

I  WILL  not  blame  thy  tears !     Go  forth  and  weep, 
Poor  child  of  sorrow !     Suddenly  the  blow 
Hath  pierced  the  fountain,  with  infliction  deep, 
Whence;  in  the  heart,  the  bitter  waters  flow. 
I  will  not  blame  thee !     God  himself  approves 
The  tears,  which  from  his  wounded  people  steal. 
Not  seldom  he  afflicts  whom  most  he  loves ; 
He  made  the  heart,  and  fashioned  it  to  feel. 
But  in  thy  sorrow,  think,  oh,  think  of  this, 
That,  though  thou  weepest,  thou  may'st  not  complain. 
Each  stern,  impatient  throb  at  once  dismiss, 
Nor  let  a  thought  God's  providence  arraign. 
Yes,  shed  thy  tears,  but  shed  them  patiently, 
And  thou,  in  season  due,  shalt  God's  salvation  see. 


SCRIPTURE   SONNETS.  257 


(LXX.)       VANITY    OF     FAME. 

["  How  can  ye  believe,  which  receive  honor  one  of  another  and 
seek  not  the  honor  that  cometh  from  God  ?    John  v.  41.] 

THEY  call  thee  Son  of  Genius  !     And  't  is  true, 
Thou  hast  a  mind,  that  can  sublimely  soar. 
Thought  calls  to  thought  within  thee.     In  thy  view 
New  mountains  rise  and  unknown  oceans  roar. 
And  men  behold  the  marvels  thou  hast  wrought, 
Expanding  fair  in  Fancy's  wondering  eye ; 
And  as  they  mark  them,  tax  their  grateful  thought 
To  furnish  forth  their  meed  of  homage  high. 
But  this  shall  not  avail  thee  in  that  hour, 
When  earthly  hope  and  heart  shall  pass  away, 
Thou  then  shall  seek  an  arm  of  mightier  power, 
On  which  thy  sick  and  wearied  head  to  lay. 
No  pomp,  no  power,  no  vain  applause  of  men, 
Nought  but  a  Saviour's  help,  avails  to  cheer  thee  then. 


258  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(tXXI.)       HE    LOVETH    WHOM  HE    CHASTENETH. 

["  For  whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth,  and  scourgeth 
every  son,  whom  he  receiveth."    Heb.  xii.  6.] 

THIS  is  a  cup  of  sorrow.     Like  the  deer, 
Struck  by  the  archers  on  the  mountain's  side, 
And  followed  far  by  hunting  hound  and  spear, 
Thus  am  I  close  pursued.     Both  deep  and  wide 
The  waters  of  affliction  o'er  me  sweep. 
But  there's  a  meaning  in  it.     God  doth  know, 
If  we  would  smile,  that  we  must  also  weep, 
And  joys  at  last  from  stricken  bosoms  flow. 
He  would  not  have  me  linked  unto  the  world ; 
He 's  jealous,  when  he  sees  me  go  astray  ; 
For  this  the  arrow  from  his  arm  is  hurled; 
Yes,  grief  shall  teach  me,  there  's  a  better  way. 
Oh,  let  me  not  repine,  but  kiss  the  rod, 
Which  doth  my  errors  smite,  and  calls  me  back  to  God. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  259 


PERSECUTION. 

["  Then  shall  they  deliver  you  up  to  be  afflicted,  and  shall  kill 
you ;  and  ye  shall  be  hated  of  all  nations  for  my  name's  sake.''  "But 
he  that  shall  endure  unto  the  end,  the  same  shall  be  saved.'' 
Mat.  xxiv.  9,  13.] 

AT  that  dread  time,  to  woes  and  blood  allied, 
When  Satan's  angry  hosts  are  gathering  round ; 
Oh,  who  the  trying  hour  will  firm  abide, 
Nor  flee,  when  persecution  stands  unbound  ? 
Oh,  who,  esteeming  joy  and  life  but  dross, 
Will  freely  barter  bliss  for  agony, 
And  to  his  bosom  binding  firm  the  Cross, 
Demand  in  chains  and  fire  the  victory  ? 
Sons  of  the  Kingdom  !     Deem  it  good  to  die, 
When  Jesus  calls  you  to  that  final  pain. 
Behold  !     His  angel  bands  are  hovering  nigh, 
To  quench  the  faggot,  and  to  rend  the  chain. 
The  body  falls ;  the  deathless  mind  shall  rise, 
Rejoiced  and  purer  from  the  sacrifice. 


260  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 

"I  am  the  good  shepherd,  I  know  my  sheep  and  am  known  of 
mine."    John  x.  14.] 

WHEN  o'er  the  mountains  blue  the  clouds  arise, 
Charged  thick  with  lightning,  and  with  hail  and  rain, 
The  Shepherd,  with  his  flocks  upon  the  plain, 
Looks  upward,  and  observes  the  threatening  skies, 
And  hastes  and  calls  his  lambs.     He  sees  them  roam, 
Some  on  the  cliffs,  some  by  the  gentle  brook, 
Unconscious  of  their  danger.     With  his  crook 
And  chiding  voice,  he  brings  them  safely  home, 
And  pens  them  in  the  fold.     Our  Saviour  too 
Is  keeper  of  a  flock,  a  precious  flock, 
Purchased  by  his  own  blood.     To  pastures  new 
He  leads  them ;  and  beneath  the  shadowy  rock 
Protects  them  from  the  sun.     When  beat  the  storm 
He  fold  them  in  his  arms,  and  "  in  his  bosom  warms." 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  261 


(LXXIV.)       THE    CHURCH. 

["  Out  of  Zion,  the  perfection  of  beauty,  God  hath  shined."  Ps. 
1.3.  "But  ye  are  a  chosen  generation,  a  royal  priesthood,  an 
holy  nation,  a  peculiar  people."  1  Peter,  ii.  9.] 

WHATE'ER  in  earth  the  ravished  eye  beholds, 
Whate'er  of  beauty  in  the  burnished  sky, 
It  all  the  great  Creator's  power  unfolds, 
His  truth,  his  wisdom,  his  benignity. 
There  stand  they,  stamped  by  an  immortal  hand, 
In  characters,  as  bright  as  yonder  sun  ; 
Revealed  and  known  and  read  by  every  land, 
Long  as  that  burning  orb  its  course  shall  run. 
But  more  his  beauty  from  his  Zion  shines  ; 
Far  more  his  glory  from  his  Church  is  known  ; 
Inscribed  on  holy  hearts,  in  brighter  lines  ; 
With  brighter  beams,  in  holy  actions  shown. 
Ye  are  Ms  Temple ;  built  and  bought  for  Him  ; 
Oh,  then,  let  not  its  light,  its  holy  light  grow  dim. 


262  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LXXV.)      THE    RETURNING   DOVE. 

["But  the  dove  found  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  her  foot ;  and  she 
returned  unto  him  in  the  ark,  for  the  waters  were  on  the  face  of 
of  the  whole  earth."  Gen.  viii.  9.] 

WHEN  Noah's  Dove  flew  o'er  the  waters  wide, 
(Dark  were  those  watery  fields  and  stormy  then,) 
Boldly  and  far  her  daring  flight  she  tried, 
But  found  no  rest,  and  wearied  came  again. 
Christ  is  to  us  an  Ark,  a  sheltering  home, 
A  place  of  refuge  in  the  hour  of  harm; 
And  yet  too  oft,  with  erring  wing  we  roam, 
And  seek  some  other  place  of  rest  and  calm. 
But  all  in  vain  ;  no  home  of  peace  we  find  ; 
No  arm  of  help,  no  shelter  in  the  gale  ; 
High  beats  the  wave,  and  hostile  is  the  wind, 
And  all  around  a  thousand  fears  assail. 
Return,  oh,  wandering  one,  thy  steps  retrace  ; 
Return,  and  find  again,  thy  blessed  resting-place. 


SCRIPTURE     SONNETS.  263 


(LXXIV.)       THE    MARTYRS. 

["  But  none  of  these  things  move  me  ;  neither  count  I  my  life 
dear  unto  myself,  so  that  I  might  finish  my  course  with  joy,  and 
the  ministry,  which  I  have  received  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  to  testify 
the  Gospel  of  the  grace  of  God."  Acts  xx.  24.] 

FAREWELL,  thou  pleasant  earth  and  beaming  sky  ! 
Farewell,  ye  friends,  our  homes  and  hearts  that  blest ! 
Now  is  the  time  to  suffer  and  to  die, 
And  pluck  from  torture  everlasting  rest. 
Welcome,  the  persecutor's  scoff  and  spear  ! 
Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  agony  and  flame  ! 
There  's  that  within  us,  which  shall  conquer  fear, 
And  gain  the  triumph  in  the  Saviour's  name. 
Our  Father  gives;  and  shall  we  spurn  the  cup? 
Then  let  the  fiery  billows  round  us  roll ; 
'T  is  well ;  if,  while  they  burn  the  body  up, 
They  touch  not,  harm  not  the  immortal  soul. 
Earth  claims  its  own,  when  "  dust  to  dust  is  given ;" 
But  claims  not,  holds  not,  what  was  meant  for  Heaven. 


264  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LXXVH.)     HEAVEN. 

["  To  an  inheritance  incorruptible,  and  undented,  and  that  fadeth 
not  away,  reserved  in  heaven  for  you.1'     1  Peter  i.  4.] 

Too  long  to  higher  good  and  beauty  blind, 
I  plucked  the  flowers,  upon  my  path  that  grew : 
Till,  wounded  by  the  thorns,  my  tortured  mind 
Resolves  a  better  country  to  pursue. 
Land  of  the  Pilgrim's  hope  and  fond  desire ! 
The  land,  where  wearied  hearts  at  last  may  flee ! 
To  thee  at  length  my  quickened  thoughts  aspire ; 
Mine  eye  is  turned ;  my  wings  are  plumed  for  thee. 
And  thus  I  bid,  without  a  tear,  farewell 
To  all  that  charmed  my  sublunary  sense ; 
Enough  for  me,  if  I  may  rise  and  dwell, 
Where  joy  shall  make  no  work  for  penitence. 
Oh,  land,  where  wearied  hearts  at  length  may  flee ! 
Mine  eye  is  turned ;  my  wings  are  plumed  for  thee. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LXXVIII.)     CHRIST'S   INTERCESSION. 

["  If  any  man  sin,  we  have  an  Advocate  with  the  Father,  Jesus 
Christ  the  righteous."    John  ii.  1.] 

OH,  would  we  enter  to  the  inward  light, 
And  with  the  everlasting  glory  dwell ; 
As  doth  the  eagle,  in  his  steadfast  flight, 
Strike  upward  to  the  sun's  bright  citadel ; 
Oh,  would  we,  ceasing  here  on  earth  to  roam, 
Nor  seeking  more  its  transitory  flowers, 
Build  in  the  central  blaze  another  home, 
And  thus  forever  make  that  glory  ours ; 
Then  upward  look  to  the  Eternal  Throne ; 
Behold  the  mighty  Intercessor  there ; 
He  hath  the  key,  that  makes  it  all  our  own, 
(Unlocking  all,)  the  golden  key  of  Prayer. 
In  any  other  way  thou  shalt  not  win  ; 
'T  is  Christ,  and  Christ  alone,  that  lets  his  people  in. 
22* 


266  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


„     (LXXIX.)       REJOICING    IN    GOD. 

["  The  Lord  is  my  rock  and  my  fortress,  and  my  deliverer ;  my 
God,  my  strength,  in  whom  I  will  trust ;  my  buckler,  and  the  horn 
of  my  salvation,  and  my  high  tower."  Ps.  xviii.  2.] 

THE  bird  not  always  mounteth  on  the  wing, 
Nor  doth  he  always  his  sweet  music  pour ; 
But  as  he  silent  on  the  branch  doth  swing, 
He  ever  ready  is  to  sing  or  soar. 
The  music,  heard  not,  lingers  on  his  tongue ; 
His  flight  is  poising,  ere  it  upward  rise ; 
Thus  shall  his  sudden  harp  of  joy  be  strung, 
And  thou  shalt  see  him  mounting  in  the  skies. 
Oh,  Christian,  be  it  ever  thus  with  thee, 
When  sitting  here,  thou  with  the  earth  dost  blend ; 
Still  as  we  mark  thee,  let  us  always  see, 
Thou  hast  a  wing  just  poising  to  ascend, 
And  that  the  song,  which  hath  no  outward  voice, 
Still,  in  the  inward  soul,  fails  never  to  rejoice. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  267 


(LXXX.)       SECRET    PRAYER. 

["But  thou,  when  thou  prayest,  enter  into  thy  closet,  and  when 
thou  hast  shut  thy  door,  pray  to  thy  Father  which  is  in  secret ; 
and  thy  Father,  which  seeth  in  secret,  shall  reward  thee  openly.1' 
Matt.  vi.  6.] 

MEN  need  a  friend,  into  whose  faithful  breast 
Their  sins  and  sorrows  they  can  freely  pour ; 
And  filled  with  hope,  can  from  his  love  implore 
Support  and  pardon,  purity  and  rest. 
No  earthly  friend  can  meet  this  high  demand ; 
But  God  can  do  it.     In  the  secret  place 
Implore  his  guidance  and  forgiving  grace, 
And  thou  shalt  know  his  kind  and  aiding  hand. 
He  hears  in  secret.     And  thrice  blest  are  they, 
Who,  all  apart  from  men,  their  homage  bring ; 
Seeking  in  deepest  solitude,  to  pay, 
Pure  from  the  heart,  their  humble  offering. 
In  that  blest  hour,  more  than  in  any  other, 
God  meets  us  face  to  face,  as  brother  meets  with  brother. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LXXXJ.)       SPIRITUAL    FREEDOM. 

["Then  said  Jesus  to  those  Jews  which  believed  on  him,  If  ye' 
continue  in  my  word,  then  are  ye  my  disciples  indeed ;  and  ye 
shall  know  the  truth,  and  the  truth  shall  make  you  free.''  John 
viii.  31,  32.] 

So  prompt  are  men  their  earthly  chains  to  break, 
That  countless  toils  they  cheerfully  endure, 
And  pour  their  choicest  blood  for  freedom's  sake, 
Their  sufferings  to  avenge,  their  rights  secure. 
But  there's  a  greater  bondage;  there's  a  chain, 
Which  deeper  goes,  and  wastes  with  keener  smart. 
It  profits  little,  that  we  rend  in  twain 
The  outward  links,  but  wear  them  on  the  heart. 
Awake  !  arise  !  once  more  the  effort  make 
To  gain  the  higher  freedom.     Christ  can  heal 
The  wounds  of  sin's  dread  slavery,  and  can  break 
The  chains  which  Satan  binds.     To  Him  appeal ! 
Lean  on  his  arm,  and  it  will  all  be  well. 
He  conquers  every  foe,  sin,  sorrow,  death  and  hell. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  269 


UNION    WITH    CHRIST. 

["  Abide  in  me,  and  I  in  you.  As  the  branch  cannot  bear  fruit 
of  itself,  except  it  abide  in  the  vine :  no  more  can  ye,  except  ye 
abide  in  me.  I  am  the  vine,  ye  are  the  branches."  John  xv.  4,  5.] 

THEY  love  their  blessed  Leader.     Not  more  close 
The  branches  cling  unto  the  parent  tree, 
Than  are  his  followers  bound  to  Christ.     They  loose, 
Like  him,  their  hold  on  earthly  things.     They  free 
Their  hearts  from  the  strong  bonds  of  selfishness, 
And  yield  for  general  good  their  private  weal. 
Where'er  is  want,  despondency,  distress, 
They  have  the  hand  to  toil,  the  heart  to  feel. 
'T  is  thus  the  Saviour  taught  them.     They  are  one 
With  Him,  and  in  their  souls  his  image  bear, 
Rejoicing  in  the  likeness.     As  the  sun 
Doth  spread  his  radiance  through  the  fields  of  air, 
And  kindle  in  revolving  stars  his  blaze, 
He  pours  upon  their  hearts  the  splendor  of  his  rays. 


270  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


ETERNITY. 

["  And  sware  by  him  that  liveth  forever  and  ever,  who  created 
heaven,  and  the  things  that  therein  are,  and  the  earth,  and  the 
things  that  therein  are,  and  the  sea,  and  the  things  which  are 
therein,  that  there  should  be  time  no  longer.'1  Rev.  x.  6.] 

AND  what  is  human  life?     The  transient  beam, 
That  fades  at  sunset  from  the  western  sky, 
Is  not  more  evanescent.     Yet  we  deem 
The  present  all  in  all ;  and  shut  our  eye 
To  the  vast  boundless  sea  of  future  being. 
Strange  madness  this !     Oh,  let  us  rather  look, 
With  face  averse  from  things  not  worth  our  seeing, 
Into  Eternity's  unchanging  book. 
There  is  vast  meaning  in  that  single  sound ! 
Created  minds  fail  in  its  measurement. 
Eternity !     It  hath  no  height,  no  bound, 
And  yet  beyond  all  height,  depth,  bound,  extent ! 
Time  fails  ;  worlds  perish ;  that  alone  rolls  on, 
Untired,  unchanged,  unchanging,  when  all  else  is  gone. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  271 


["  He  giveth  snow  like  wool ;  he  scattereth  the  hoar-frost  like 
ashes.  He  casteth  forth  his  ice  like  morsels  :  who  can  stand  be- 
fore his  cold."  Ps.  cxlvii.  16,  17.] 

GOD  sends  his  frost  like  ashes.     With  quick  pace 
The  stealthy  sun  hastes  o'er  the  hills.     The  wind, 
That  sweeps  their  beaten  sides,  doth  chase 
The  desolate  leaves.     The  ice  the  lake  doth  bind, 
And  the  soft  earth  is  hardened  into  rock, 
That  shakes  and  echoes  'neath  the  shepherd's  tread, 
Who  fastens  from  the  cold  his  shivering  flock. 
E'en  the  gay  flowers,  the  laughing  flowers,  are  dead. 
God  sees  it  fit  to  be  so.     Thus  he  teaches 
A  lesson,  which  his  creature  man  should  learn, 
(Alas,  too  seldom  human  hearts  it  reaches,) 
That  all  things  fade,  and  all  to  dust  shall  turn. 
Yes,  man  shall  have  his  winter,  and  his  year 
Of  life  wax  old  and  die ;  his  leaf  and  bloom  be  sear. 


272  SCRIPTURE    SONNETS. 


(LXXXV.)       THE    LAST    SLEEP. 

["  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might ;  for 
there  is  no  work,  nor  device,  nor  knowledge,  nor  wisdom,  in  the 
grave,  whither  thou  goest."  Eccl.  ix.  10.] 

As  some  lone  sea-bird,  marked  for  cruel  slaughter, 
When  by  the  fowler  wounded,  screaming  goes, 
Down,  deeply  down,  through  the  dark  waste  of  water, 
And  in  the  mud  and  reeds  its  eye  doth  close ; 
So  from  the  wave  of  life  man  sinks ;  and  o'er  him 
The  billows  meet,  and  shut  his  dying  cry 
Deep  in  the  grave.     And  nothing  shall  restore  him 
To  those  bright  scenes,  that  cheered  his  living  eye. 
Deep  in  the  grave  he  sleeps.     A  long,  deep  sleep, 
Unmoved  by  toil,  or  care,  or  hope,  or  sorrow, 
Or  lamentable  cry  of  friends  who  weep. 
It  heeds  nor  closing  night  nor  rising  morrow, 
Nor  storm  nor  thunder.     Nought  on  earth  can  wake  it, 
Nought  but  God's  thrilling  trump,  the  last  great  trump, 
can  break  it. 


SCRIPTURE    SONNETS.  273 


GOD  SEEN  BY    THE    MIND. 

["  And  he  said,  Thou  canst  not  see  my  face  :  for  there  shall  no 
man  see  me,  and  live."    Ex.  xxxiii.  20.] 

CANST  tell  me,  what  is  God  ?     And  can  thine  eye, 
As  swift  and  wide  it  goes  o'er  things  that  are, 
Detect  his  outline,  form,  locality, 
And  make  me  know,  who,  what  he  is,  and  where  ? 
He  is  not  in  the  cloud,  nor  storm,  nor  sea, 
Nor  nimble  lightning,  nor  the  earthquake's  shock. 
Nor  in  the  balmy  shrub,  nor  flower,  nor  tree, 
Nor  vale,  nor  hill,  nor  everlasting  rock. 
Thou  canst  not  see  Him  with  thy  bodily  sight, 
But  send  thou  forth  the  keener  eye  of  the  mind, 
And,  if  not  darkened  by  some  sensual  blight, 
On  every  side  God's  presence  it  shall  find ; 
In  cloud  and  storm  and  sunny  fields  of  air, 
In  hills,  and  trees,  and  vales,  and  rocks  and  every  where. 
23 


Religious   Hymns   and  Songs 


PENITENCE. 


OH,  say  when  errors  oft  and  black 
Have  deeply  stained  the  inmost  soul, 

Who  then  shall  call  the  wanderer  back, 
Who  make  the  broken  spirit  whole  ? 

Who  give  the  tortured  and  depressed 

The  grateful  balm,  that  soothes  to  rest  ? 

When  storms  are  driven  across  the  sky, 
The  rainbow  decks  the  troubled  clouds, 

And  there  is  one,  whose  love  is  nigh, 

Where  grief  annoys  and  darkness  shrouds : 

He  '11  stretch  abroad  his  bow  of  peace, 

And  bid  the  storm  and  tempest  cease. 

Then  go,  vain  world,  't  is  time  to  part, 
Too  long  and  darkly  hast  thou  twined 

Around  this  frail,  corrupted  heart, 
And  poisoned  the  immortal  mind  ; 

Oh.  I  have  known  the  pangs  that  spring 

From  pleasure's  beak  and  folly's  sting. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  275 

Hail,  Prince  of  heaven  !     Hail.  Bow  of  rest ! 

Oh,  downward  scatter  mercy's  ray, 
And  all  the  darkness  of  my  breast 

Shall  quickly  turn  to  golden  day. 
With  Thee  is  peace ;  no  griefs  annoy ; 
And  tears  are  grateful  gems  of  joy. 


THE  CAPTIVE    JEWS.      PS.  CXXXTTT. 

BENEATH  thy  palm-tree,  Zion, 
How  swift  our  moments  flew. 

E'er  sorrow  o'er  our  bosoms 
Its  clouds  of  darkness  threw. 

But  now  by  Babel's  waler, 
Our  tears  foe  Salem  shine, 

And  'mid  the  sons  of  slaughter, 
Our  thoughts  are  only  thine. 

Our  country's  song,  the  conquerors 
Have  bid  their  captive?  pour, 

But  when  from  Thee  we  're  parted, 
Our  harps  can  sound  no  more. 

We  sat  down  by  the  billow, 

Our  harps  upon  ihe  tree, 
And  weeping,  'neath  the  willow, 

Oh,  Zion,  thought  of  thee. 


276  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 


SOLOMON'S  CHOICE.     I  KINGS  in.  5 — 12. 

IT  was  not  power  with  crimson  spear, 
With  starry  crown  and  blood-shot  eye ; 

It  was  not  wealth  nor  golden  gear 

He  asked  for,  from  the  Lord  on  high ; 

It  was  not  that  his  wrath  might  be 

Destruction  to  his  enemy. 

It  was  not  that  his  life  might  wind 

Through  vales  more  bright  than  fancy's  dream, 
Reflecting  flowers,  each  hue  and  kind, 

That  pleasure's  hand  e'er  taught  to  gleam  ; 
Oh,  not  for  these,  for  WISDOM'S  ray 
He  asked,  and  thou  wouldst  not  gainsay. 

And,  Lord,  like  him,  nor  glory's  plume, 
Nor  wealth  we  seek,  nor  ruby's  flame, 

Against  our  foes  no  dreadful  doom, 

Nor  bliss, nor  lengthened  life  we  name; 

But  fill  our  hearts  from  stores  above 

With  wisdom,  goodness,  truth,  and  love. 


LIKE    THE    STREAMS    FROM    MOUNT  HERMON. 

LIKE  the  streams  from  mount  Hermon,  that  borrow 
The  waves  through  the  vallies  that  roll ; 

So  the  streams  of  affliction  and  sorrow 
In  torrents  rush  down  on  thy  soul. 


RELIGIOUS   HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  277 

But  the  banks  of  the  dark-flowing  river, 

When  the  rushing  of  waves  is  at  rest, 
Bloom  lovelier  and  brighter  than  ever, 

With  flowers  and  with  fragrance  are  blest. 

And  thou  wilt  arise  joyful-hearied, 
With  thy  hopes  pure  and  bright  as  a  star, 

When  thou  hear'st,  from  the  billows  departed, 
Their  terrible  dashing  afar. 

The  afflictions,  that  now  so  distress  thee, 

Will  leave,  when  departing,  behind, 
A^flower,  that  will  spring  up  and  bless  thee, 

And  distill  all  its  joys  on  thy  mind. 


SUBMISSION. 

THOUGH  sunk  in  darkness  and  despair, 
Let  not  thy  murmuring  lips  reply ; 

Thou  art  the  object  of  his  care, 
E'en  in  the  hour  of  misery. 

Oh,  never  deem  he  will  forget, 

And  leave  thee  to  the  foeman's  power  : 

But  rather  trust,  that  favor  yet 
Will  smile  in  the  propitious  hour. 

He  bade  the  rod  of  Aaron  bloom, 

When  shut  from  day's  benignant  light, 

And,  'mid  surrounding  shade  and  gloom, 
Put  brightly  forth  its  buds  of  white. 
23* 


278  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 

And  though  affliction  now  be  thine, 
Oh,  bless  his  kind  and  wise  control, 

And  hope  and  joy  and  love  shall  shine, 
And  blossom  from  the  troubled  soul. 


LONG    DID  THE  CLOUDS  AND  DARKNESS    ROLL. 

["  The  Lord  shall  help  them  and  deliver  them ;  he  shall  deliver 
them  from  the  wicked,  and  save  them,  because  they  trust  in  him.1' 
Ps.  xxxvii.  40.] 

LONG  did  the  clouds  and  darkness  roll 

Around  my  troubled  breast ; 
No  starlight  shone  upon  my  soul, 

My  footsteps  found  no  rest. 

To  human  help  I  looked  around, 

But  vainly  sought  relief; 
No  balm  of  Gilead  I  found, 

No  healing  for  my  grief. 

Then  to  the  Saviour's  help  I  cried ; 

He  listening  heard  my  prayer ; 
I  saw  his  wounded  hands  and  side, 

And  felt  that  hope  was  there. 

He  guides  me  in  the  better  way; 

He  makes  my  footsteps  strong ; 
The  gloomy  night  is  changed  to  day, 

And  sadness  changed  to  song. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  279 


JEHOVAH,  SOV'REIGN  OF  MY  HEART. 

["  Because  Thou  hast  been  my  help,  therefore  in  the  shadow  of 
thy  wings  will  I  rejoice.  My  soul  followeth  hard  after  Thee ;  thy 
right  hand  upholdeth  me."  Ps.  Ixiii.  7,  8.] 

I. 

JEHOVAH,  sov'reign  of  my  heart ! 

My  joy  by  night  and  day  ! 
From  Thee,  oh  may  I  never  part, 

From  Thee  ne'er  go  astray. 
Whene'er  allurements  round  me  stand, 

And  tempt  me  from  my  choice ; 
Oh,  let  me  find  thy  gracious  hand, 

Oh,  let  me  hear  thy  voice. 

II. 

This  vain  and  feeble  heart,  I  know, 

To  worldly  ways  is  prone  ; 
But  penitential  tears  shall  show, 

There  's  joy  in  Thee  alone. 
With  God  all  darkness  turns  to  day ; 

With  Him  all  sorrows  flee ; 
Thou  art  the  true  and  living  way, 

And  I  will  walk  in  Thee. 


OH,    COULD  I  RULE  MY    ERRING   THOUGHT. 

OH,  could  I  rule  my  erring  thought, 

Each  wrong  desire  subdue  ; 
And  serve  my  maker  as  I  ought, 

And  Thou  would' st  have  me  do. 


280  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 

Oh,  could  I  discipline  my  mind, 
To  seek  the  heavenly  goal ; 

Nor  strive,  in  earthly  things,  to  find 
A  treasure  for  the  soul. 

Then  should  my  lips  no  more  complain, 
('T  is  sin  that  makes  my  grief;) 

But  Thou,  that  givest  ease  for  pain, 
Would'st  quickly  bring  relief. 

Ascendant  over  time  and  sense. 
My  feet  would  upward  move, 

Protected  by  thy  Providence, 
Rejoicing  in  thy  love. 


IF  THOU  WOULD'ST  HAVE  THE  WORLD  TO  PRIZE. 

IF  thou  would'st  have  the  world  to  prize, 

And  of  the  wonders  tell ; 
The  glory  and  the  mysteries, 

That  in  the  Saviour  dwell ; 

Then  put  thyself  the  Saviour  on, 

And  clothe  thee  with  his  light, 
Nor  let  the  dress,  thou  oft  hast  worn, 

Exclude  Him  from  their  sight. 

Oh,  Christian,  what  a  shame  it  is, 

That  thou  thy  sins  dost  bear, 
When  raiment,  made  of  righteousness, 

It  is  thy  right  to  wear. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  281 

Oh,  let  that  holy  garment  shine, 

That  all  around  may  see, 
And  magnify  the  Lord  Divine, 

Whose  brightness,  beams  from  thee. 


SOMETIMES    I    UPWARD    LIFT    MINE    EYES. 

SOMETIMES  I  upward  lift  mine  eyes, 

And  filled  with  pleasure  see, 
The  happy  hosts,  that  throng  the  skies, 

The  blood-washed  company. 

How  beautiful  their  robes,  I  say ; 

Their  garments  all,  how  white ! 
Fair  as  the  sun's  ascending  ray, 

And  clear  as  noon-day  light. 

Oh,  Saviour,  thou  hast  made  them  clean, 
The  garments  that  they  wear ; 

And  all,  who  wash  in  Thee,  their  sin, 
May  in  those  garments  share. 

I  too  may  wear  that  spotless  dress, 

Its  beauty  I  may  prove ; 
It  is  the  robe  of  Holiness, 

The  dress  of  Perfect  Love. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 


MAN'S    SPIRIT    HATH    AN    UPWARD    LOOK. 

MAN'S  spirit  hath  an  upward  look, 
And  robes  itself  with  heavenly  wings  ; 

E'en  when  't  is  here  compelled  to  brook 
Confinement  to  terrestrial  things. 

Its  eye  is  fastened  on  the  skies ; 

Its  wings  for  flight  are  opened  wide ; 
Why  doth  it  hesitate  to  rise  1 

And  still  upon  the  earth  abide  ? 

And  would'st  thou  seek  the  cause  to  know, 
And  never  more  its  course  repress  ; 

Then  from  those  wings  their  burden  throw, 
And  set  them  free  from  worldliness. 

Shake  off  the  earthly  cares  that  stay 
Their  energy  and  upward  flight  ; 

And  thou  shalt  see  them  make  their  way 
To  joy,  and  liberty,  and  light. 


THE    SECRET    SIGN. 


THEY  know  Him  by  the  secret  sign, 
Which  to  their  souls  is  given ; 

'T  is  written  there  in  light  divine, 
With  characters  from  heaven. 


RELIGIOUS    HYNMS    AND    SONUS. 

They  may  not  tell  it ;  but 't  is  there, 

Forever  deep  impressed  ; 
Nor  grief,  nor  pain,  nor  sharp  despair, 

Shall  rend  it  from  their  breast. 

The  child  the  parent's  accent  knows, 

The  accents  ever  dear ; 
Unlike  the  treacherous  voice  of  foes, 

That  fills  his  heart  with  fear. 

He  runs  to  meet  it ;  and  it  falls 

In  blessings  and  in  joys  ; 
And  thus  whene'er  the  Saviour  calls, 

His  people  know  his  voice. 

They  know  him  by  the  secret  sign, 
Which  to  their  souls  is  given ; 

'T  is  written  there  in  light  divine, 
With  characters  from  heaven. 


DARK    IS   THE    WATERY    WAY. 

DARK  is  the  watery  way 

Of  life's  tempestuous  sea : 
And  none,  Oh  Christ,  are  safe,  but  they 

Who  put  their  trust  in  Thee. 

Loud  is  the  stormy  wind ; 

The  seamen  are  afraid  ; 
But  those  shall  strength  and  mercy  find, 

Whose  souls  on  Christ  are  stayed. 


284  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS, 

The  winds  they  do  not  fear, 
Nor  dread  the  thunder's  noise ; 

The  Saviour's  cheering  voice  they  hear, 
And  evermore  rejoice. 

It  is  our  Saviour's  skill, 

Our  Saviour's  arm  of  might, 

Which  guides  the  tossing  ship  at  will, 
And  puts  our  fears  to  flight. 

Praise  to  the  Pilot's  power, 
Praise  to  the  Pilot's  hand, 

That  faithful  most  in  danger's  hour, 
Shall  bring  us  safe  to  land. 


THOU    GIVER    OF    THE    RISING    LIGHT. 
I. 

THOU  Giver  of  the  rising  light, 

Thou  Author  of  the  morning  ray ; 
At  whose  command  the  shades  of  night 

Are  changed  to  bright  and  sudden  day 
Thou  too  canst  rend  the  clouded  heart, 

Enveloped  in  the  shades  of  sin ; 
And  let  the  light,  that  dwelt  apart, 

The  glory  and  the  gladness  in. 

II. 

Oh  God,  our  Father  and  our  Friend, 
Dark  is  the  cloud,  that  wraps  us  now; 

But  not  in  vain  our  prayers  ascend, 
Nor  hopeless  at  thy  feet  we  bow. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  285 

'T  is  in  the  dark,  distressing  hour, 
That  thou  dost  hear  thy  people's  cry ; 

And  come  and  clothe  them  in  thy  power, 
And  hide  them  in  thy  majesty. 


MY    HEART    IS    IN   A    LAND    AFAR. 

MY  heart  is  in  a  land  afar. 

Unseen  by  mortal  eyes ; 
A  clime,  that  needs  nor  moon  nor  star, 

A  land  of  cloudless  skies. 

They  tell  me,  that  the  earth  is  bright, 

And  I  have  pleasures  here ; 
But  still,  in  that  far  land  of  light, 

Are  pleasures  yet  more  dear. 

Oh,  that  I  had  an  angel's  wing, 

To  bear  me  hence  away ; 
Where  virtue  blooms  with  endless  spring, 

And  love  shall  ne'er  decay. 

My  heart  is  in  that  land  afar, 

Unseen  by  mortal  eyes ; 
A  clime,  that  needs  nor  moon  nor  star, 

A  land  of  cloudless  skies. 
24 


286  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS   AND    SONGS. 


ALTHOUGH   AFFLICTION   SMITES   MY    HEART. 

ALTHOUGH  affliction  smites  my  heart, 

And  earthly  pleasures  flee, 
There  is  one  bliss  that  ne'er  shall  part, 

My  joy,  oh  God,  in  Thee. 

That  joy  is  like  the  orb  of  day, 
When  clouds  its  track  pursue ; 

The  shades  and  darkness  throng  its  way, 
But  sunlight  struggles  through. 

Oh  Thou,  my  everlasting  light, 

On  whom  my  hopes  rely ; 
With  Thee  the  darkest  path  is  bright, 

And  fears  and  sorrows  die. 


WILT   THOU,   OH   MY   FATHER,    LEAVE    ME  ? 

WILT  Thou,  Oh  my  Father,  leave  me? 

Still  I  '11  bless  thy  holy  will ; 
I  may  lose,  but  will  not  grieve  Thee ; 

I  will  love  Thee  still. 

Long  and  sharply  Thou  dost  chide  me ; 

I  am  filled  with  grief  and  shame ; 
But  I  have  no  joy  beside  Thee, 

Loving  still,  the  same. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  287 

Like  the  sun-flower,  ever  turning 

Meekly  to  the  skies  its  face ; 
Still  my  heart  for  Thee  is  burning, 

Though  Thou  hid'st  thy  grace. 

Thus  my  Father  heard  me  praying ; 

Drawing  near,  once  more  He  smiled  ; 
Joyfully  I  heard  Him  saying, 

Thou  art  still  my  child. 

I  did  leave  thee  but  to  try  thee ; 

Trying,  I  have  found  thee  mine; 
Now  I  always  will  be  nigh  thee ; 

All  I  have  is  thine. 


THE    DIVINE    LIFE. 

["But  he,  that  is  joined  to  the  Lord,  is  one  spirit.' '     1  Cor .  vi.  17 .] 

OH,  sacred  union  with  the  Perfect  Mind  ! 
Transcendent  bliss,  which  Thou  alone  canst  give ! 
How  blest  are  they,  this  pearl  of  price  who  find, 
And  dead  to  earth,  have  learnt  in  Thee  to  live. 

Thus,  in  thine  arms  of  love,  Oh  God,  I  lie, 
Lost,  and  forever  lost,  to  all  but  Thee. 
My  happy  soul,  since  it  hath  learnt  to  die, 
Hath  found  new  life  in  thine  Infinity. 

Oh,  go,  and  learn  this  lesson  of  the  Cross ; 
And  tread  the  way,  which  saints  and  prophets  trod, 
Who,  counting  life,  and  self,  and  all  things  loss, 
Have  found  in  inward  death  the  life  of  God. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS   AND    SONGS. 


THEY    SAY    THEIR  PATH    WITH    FLOWERS  IS    STROWN. 
I. 

THEY  say,  their  path  with  flowers  is  strown, 

And  all  their  way  is  bright; 
But  as  for  me,  I  walk  alone, 

Encircled  with  the  night. 
But  do  not  think  my  joy  the  less. 

Oh,  no !  I  love  to  be 
Abandoned,  in  my  helplessness, 

To  deep  obscurity. 

II. 

I  love  the  thunder's  voice  to  hear  ; 

To  see  the  lightnings  play ; 
And  smile,  when  many  a  danger  near 

Comes  thronging  round  my  way. 
'T  is  then  all  human  help  is  vain, 

All  human  hopes  o'erthrown ; 
And,  in  my  great  necessity, 

I  rest  in  God  alone. 


IF  THERE    IS    SUNSHINE  IN    THE    FACE. 

IF  there  is  sunshine  in  the  face, 

And  joy  upon  the  brow, 
Do  not  suppose,  that  there 's  a  trace 

Of  answering  joy  below. 


RELIGIOUS    HYiMNS    AND    SONGS. 

And  what  avails  the  outward  light, 

Upon  the  face  the  smile ; 
If  all  within  is  dark  as  night, 

If  all  is  dead  the  while. 

Deep  in  the  heart  the  evil  lies, 
Which  nought  on  earth  can  cure , 

Aversion  to  the  only  Wise, 
To  God,  the  only  Pure. 

Oh  Thou,  who  giv'st  the  heart  renewed, 

Withhold  it  not  from  me, 
That,  all  my  enmity  subdued, 

I  may  rejoice  in  Thee. 


POWER    OP    GOD. 

OH,  Thou,  from  whom  the  vaulted  sky 
Upward  to  light  and  beauty  sprung, 

Who  on  the  lightning's  wing  dost  fly, 
And  speakest  in  the  thunder's  tongue ; 

Shall  such  a  feeble  thing  as  man, 

Whose  breath  is  measured  by  an  hour, 

Deride  Jehovah's  mighty  plan, 

Or  stand  against  Jehovah's  power  ! 

Vain  thought  is  this  !     Thou  King  of  kings ! 

For  Thou  dost  give  to  thrones  their  birth ; 
And  with  the  waving  of  thy  wings 

Canst  sweep  them  headlong  from  the  earth. 

24* 


290  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS 

All  things  are  'neath  thy  high  command  ; 

Thou  art  the  Father,  God  of  all ; 
At  thy  behest  the  world  doth  stand, 

At  thy  rebuke  the  world  shall  fall. 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    ANGELS. 
I. 

THE  star  was  bright  o'er  Bethlehem's  plain, 

The  shepherds  watched  their  fleecy  train, 

When  sudden  gleamed  the  sky  ;  the  tongue 

Of  angel  bands  in  concert  sung. 

"  Peace  and  good  will  to  men,"  their  song, 

"  Good  will,"  while  ages  roll  along ; 

The  Saviour  comes,  let  nations  hear, 

Be  hushed  each  grief,  be  wiped  each  tear. 

II. 

No  more  shall  war  bear  iron  sway, 
Vengeance  and  wrath  shall  pass  away ; 
Oppression  bind  no  more  its  chain, 
And  gladness  dwell  on  earth  again. 
The  harp,  that  melted  Eden's  bower, 
Shall  breathe  once  more  its  soothing  power  ; 
And  peace,  and  praise,  and  truth  shall  bless 
The  world  with  hope  and  loveliness. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  291 


GOD    PRAISED    IN    HIS   WORKS. 

JEHOVAH  !  How  creation  sounds 
Aloud  the  honors  of  thy  name  ; 

In  every  star  that  takes  its  rounds, 
'T  is  registered  in  words  of  flame. 

'T  is  written  on  the  morning  flower ; 

'T  is  sounded  in  the  matins  loud 
Of  birds  in  dewy  bush  and  bower  ; 

The  lark  doth  teach  it  to  the  cloud. 

The  herds  and  flocks  on  hill  and  plain, 
As  well  as  birds  the  air  that  skim ; 

The  fish,  that  haunt  the  briny  main, 
And  through  its  oozy  caverns  swim  ; 

They  all  have  voice  and  meaning  high, 
And  all  in  their  own  way  confess, 

(What  none  but  sinful  men  deny,) 
Thy  goodness,  wisdom,  righteousness. 


PROTECTION    FROM    GOD. 


FATHER  of  all,  by  all  adored, 

For  whom  archangels  sweep  the  lyre  ! 
Oh,  be  our  steps  from  sin  restored, 

Oh,  grant  thy  love,  avert  thine  ire ! 


292  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 

Relume  our  hearts  with  heavenly  light, 
That  we,  in  all  Thy  works,  may  own 

Thy  goodness  with  supreme  delight, 
And  unto  others  make  it  known. 

To  God  all  holiness  belongs  ; 

His  arm  upholds  us  every  hour ; 
To  Him  we  raise  our  grateful  songs, 

And  supplicate  His  guardian  power. 

He  is  our  God,  and  He  our  friend, 
Our  fortress  and  our  strong  defence; 

His  angels  for  our  watch  doth  send, 
And  shield  us  with  omnipotence. 


THE    ORPHAN. 

[«  Leave  thy  fatherless  children,  I  will  preserve  them  alive ;  and 
let  thy  widows  trust  in  me."    Jer.  xlix.  11.] 

OH,  that  I  had  a  home 
As  others  have  ;  nor  be 
With  none  to  pity  me, 
Compelled,  with  many  tears 
And  sighs,  afar  to  roam. 

Oh,  once  it  was  not  so, 
But  o'er  our  cot  the  trees 
Bowed  in  the  morning  breeze, 
Before  our  day  of  grief, 
Our  gloomy  time  of  woe. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  293 

How  pleasant  was  the  sight, 
When  blazed  at  eve  the  pile, 
To  see  my  mother's  smile, 
To  hear  my  father's  voice  ; 
It  filled  me  with  delight. 

But  they  are  dead  and  gone, 
And  into  other  hands 
Have  passed  our  pleasant  lands, 
Our  cot  and  its  green  trees, 
And  I  am  left  alone. 

And  whither  shall  I  go? 
Oh,  God !  to  Thee  I  cry  ; 
To  Thee  I  lift  mine  eye  ; 
Thou  art  the  orphan's  friend ; 
Have  pity  on  my  woe. 


FAR    IN   THE    LONELY  WOODS. 

FAR  in  the  lonely  woods, 

Where  wild  flowers  scent  the  air, 
'T  is  sweet  to  hear  at  eve 

The  missionary's  prayer. 

The  Indian  households  come, 
The  Indian  chiefs  are  nigh ; 

And  oft  unwonted  tears 
Bedew  their  softened  eye. 


294  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 

How  joyful  is  the  sound ! 

They  hear  of  Jesus'  name, 
Who,  leaving  heaven  behind, 

For  their  salvation  came. 

In  their  rude  tents  before, 
They  heard  no  praying  voice ; 

Now  sad  and  dark  no  more, 
Their  grateful  hearts  rejoice. 

Far  in  the  lonely  woods, 

Where  wild  flowers  scent  the  air, 

'T  is  sweet  to  hear  at  eve 
The  missionary's  prayer. 


EARTHLY    OBJECTS    UNSATISFYING. 

WHENE'ER  the  sun,  with  vernal  ray, 
Shines  o'er  the  snowy  cliff  and  hill, 

Their  wintry  treasures  melt  away, 
And  mingle  with  the  rushing  rill. 

They  now  are  there ;  and  now  are  gone ; 

A  moment  gleam  ;  and  then  are  passed  ; 
So  earthly  hopes,  to-day  that  shone, 

To-morrow  fade  away  as  fast. 

If  then  our  pleasures  here  below, 

Although  we  think  we  hold  them  sure, 

Are  like  the  dews  and  mountain  snow, 
And  will  not,  cannot  long  endure; 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  295 

Why  should  they  trouble  thus  our  mind  ? 

And  why  our  ceaseless  efforts  call  ? 
When  all  the  good,  that  thence  we  find, 

Is  both  so  fleeting  and  so  small. 


THE    BEST    FRIENDSHIP. 

IF  clouds  arise  and  storms  appear, 
If  fortune,  friends,  and  all  forsake  me, 

There's  one  to  shed  with  mine  the  tear, 
And  to  His  bleeding  bosom  take  me. 

Blest  Saviour  !     Let  it  be  my  lot, 

To  tread  with  Thee  this  round  of  being ; 

Thy  love  and  mercy  alter  not, 

When  every  sunbeam  friend  is  fleeing. 

Oh,  be  it  thine  to  guide  my  soul 

Along  the  wave  of  life's  dark  ocean  ; 

And  nought  I  '11  fear,  when  billows  roll, 
Nor  dread  the  whirlwind's  rude  commotion. 

Thy  love  shall  be  my  polar  light, 
And  whether  weal  or  woe  betide  me, 

Through  raging  storm  and  shadowy  night, 
Its  blaze  shall  shine  to  cheer  and  guide  me. 


296  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 


THE    DEPARTING    CHRISTIAN. 
I. 

ON  earth  when  the  journey  allotted  us  closes, 

And  spirit  and  body  are  hasting  away, 
If  a  gleam,  on  our  parting,  of  mercy  reposes, 

Oh,  who  in  this  lone  world  would  wish  to  delay  ? 
Oh,  who  would  not  flee  from  the  ties  that  endear  us, 

And  bind  us  most  close  to  the  things  here  below, 
To  the  land,  where  pollution  can  never  come  near  us, 

And  bliss  is  disturbed  by  no  moments  of  woe  ? 

II. 

Then  joy  to  the  soul,  that  is  ripe  for  ascending, 

If  hope  is  the  star,  that  enlightens  death's  vale  ; 
For  why  should  we  keep  it  from  joys  never  ending, 

To  tenant  this  mansion  of  weeping  and  wail  ? 
Its  stains,  washed  away  by  the  full,  crimson  gushes 

From  the  wounded  Redeemer,  no  longer  remain  ; 
On  the  wings  of  an  angel  to  heaven  it  rushes, 

To  be  happy  forever  and  ever  to  reign. 


OMNIPRESENCE    OF   THE    DEITY. 

WHO  bids  the  billow  heave  its  breast, 
Then  soothes  its  troubled  throb  to  rest? 
Who  bids  the  coral  greenly  bloom 
Around  the  sea-boy's  ocean  tomb  ? 
Oh  Lord !     The  sky,  the  earth,  the  sea, 
And  all  things  else  are  full  of  Thee ! 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  297 

At  whose  command,  when  eve  doth  fall 
With  mantle  dim,  o'ershadowingall, 
Do  trooping  stars  come  twinkling  through, 
And  decking  bright  heaven's  arch  of  blue? 
Father  !     The  sky,  the  sea,  the  earth, 
Proclaim  the  author  of  their  birth. 

Thine  are  the  mountains,  thine  the  caves  ; 
Thou  ridest  on  the  winds  and  waves ; 
Thine  is  the  bright  o'er-arching  bow, 
The  thunder's  voice,  the  lightning's  glow  ; 
The  earth,  the  sea,  the  sky  are  thine ; 
In  all  Thou  art,  in  all  divine. 


OH,    COULD    I    BEHOLD  ! 
I. 

OH,  could  I  behold  but  the  light  of  thy  face, 

And  renew  all  the  raptures  that  once  so  enchanted, 
When  my  footsteps  first  trod  in  the  heavenly  race, 

And  the  road,  I  had  entered,  with  roses  was  planted ; 
Not  the  song  from  the  traveler,  faint  and  astray, 

When  his  tribute  of  praise  and  of  gladness  is  blending, 
For  the  fountains  and  palm-groves  he  found  on  his  way, 

Should  match  with  the  strain  from  my  bosom  ascending. 

II. 

Thou  Star  of  the  Christian !     Thou  Guide  of  the  lost ! 

Oh,  withhold  not  the  beams  that  can  lead  and  can  gladden 
Frail  man,  on  the  ocean  of  life  when  he  's  tost, 

When  the  billows  float  high,  and  the  wild   tempests 
madden. 

25 


«J»  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 

Blest  Saviour  !     Once  more  be  the  light  of  my  soul ; 

And  amid  all  the  dangers  and  griefs  that  oppress  me, 
This  heart  shall  submit  to  thy  faultless  control, 

The  song  of  these  lips  shall  unceasingly  bless  thee. 


DOUBTS    AND    FEARS. 

IN  the  day  of  visitation, 

When  the  clouds  have  o'er  thee  passed, 
And  thou  thinkest  that  salvation 

May  not  bless  thee  at  the  last ; 

In  the  hour  of  doubts  and  fearing, 
When  the  Saviour  seems  afar, 

And  thy  spirit,  without  cheering, 
Is  the  night  without  a  star ; 

Know,  that  it  is  all  to  try  thee, 
And  that  Jesus  loves  thee  still, 

Nor  will  ever  He  deny  thee, 
If  thou  walkest  in  his  will. 

He  hath  set  the  great  example, 

Follow  on,  as  he  hath  trod  ; 
Doubts  and  sin  beneath  thee  trample, 

Live  and  act  and  hope  in  God. 

Then,  though  light  or  dark  attend  thee, 
In  the  end  't  will  be  the  same  5 

If  the  Saviour  doth  befriend  thee, 
Thou  shalt  ne'er  be  put  to  shame. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  299 


HVMN    AT    SEA. 

'T  is  not  in  yonder  starry  host, 
Oh,  God  of  might !  I  see  Thee  most, 
Although  Thy  skill  and  power  divine 
In  sun  and  moon  and  planets  shine  ; 
When  tossed  upon  the  raging  sea, 
I  view  and  feel  the  most  of  Thee. 

The  sea-birds  stretch  their  wings  on  high, 
And  shriek  beneath  the  warring  sky  ; 
In  mountain  piles  the  billows  flow, 
And  laboring  ships  toss  to  and  fro, 
And  from  Thy  red,  right  arm  doth  roll 
The  thundering  bolt  from  pole  to  pole. 

Oh,  then  I  know  Jehovah's  form, 
Careering  in  the  bellowing  storm, 
Oh,  then  I  see  his  wond'rous  way, 
Where  o'er  the  deep  the  lightnings  play  ; 
I  see — I  hear — I  bow  my  soul, 
And  yield  it  to  his  high  control. 


THE    PILGRIM  S    RETURN. 

WHEN  the  PILGRIMS  of  earth  seek  their  parents'  embrace, 
After  long  years  of  absence  their  residence  greeting, 

And  meet  the  dear  objects  of  love  face  to  face, 

Their  rapture  how  high  !  Oh,  how  happy  their  meeting  ! 

More  happy  are  they,  who  arrive  at  the  shore, 

Where  friends,  when  they  mingle,  shall  part  never  more. 


300  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 

On  the  blest  hills  of  heaven  behold  them  appear, 

Their  hands  to  their  harps,  wreathed  with  roses,  ad- 
dressing ; 

They  raise  to  the  Saviour,  who  wipes  every  tear, 
Ascriptions  of  honor,  and  glory,  and  blessing. 

His  arm  through  their  perils  hath  led  to  the  shore, 

Where  friends,  when  they  mingle,  shall  part  never  more. 

The  homes  of  this  world  become  dim  and  decay, 

And  friends,  when  they  meet,  are  too  soon  called  to 
sever ; 

But  the  mansions  prepared  in  the  regions  of  day, 
Stand  beaming  and  beautiful  ever  and  ever ; 

And  those,  whom  the  Saviour  shall  lead  to  that  shore, 

Shall  stray  from  its  mansions,  and  part  never  more. 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    DYING. 

THE  world  misdeem  it.     Oh,  't  is  not, 
As  some  assert,  a  hapless  lot 

To  stand  with  wings  unfurled, 
Just  starting  for  that  heavenly  world, 

Where  woe  's  forgot. 

'T  is  true,  I  leave  my  friends  behind, 
And  I  have  ever  known  them  kind, 

In  past,  departed  hours ; 
But  shall  I  not  in  heaven's  bowers 

True  friendship  find  ? 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS   AND    SONGS.  301 

'T  is  time  to  rend  apart  the  chain, 
That  binds  to  scenes  so  sad  and  vain 

As  here  afflict  our  eyes. 
No  sorrow  dwells  beyond  the  skies, 

No  tears,  no  pain. 

Let  those,  who  love  me,  rise  and  dare 
To  spurn  the  world,  and  seek  me  there, 

In  that  bright  land  of  rest ; 
And  with  the  good,  the  pure,  the  blest. 

In  bliss  to  share. 


THE    FIRST    DAY    OF    THE    NEW    LIFE. 

"  AH,  how  long  shall  I  delight 
In  the  memory  of  that  day," 

When  the  shades  of  mental  night 
Sudden  passed  away ! 

Long  around  my  darkened  view 

Had  those  lingering  shadows  twined ; 

Till  the  Gospel,  breaking  through, 
Chased  them  from  my  mind. 

There  was  light  in  every  thing, 
Every  thing  was  bathed  in  bliss ; 

Trees  did  wave,  and  birds  did  sing, 
Full  of  happiness. 
25* 


302  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 

Beauty  in  the  woods  shone  forth, 
Beauty  did  the  flowers  display ; 

And  my  glorious  Maker's  worth 
Beamed  with  matchless  ray. 

"Ah,  how  long  shall  I  delight 
In  the  memory  of  that  day," 

When  the  shades  of  mental  night 
Sudden  passed  away. 


CONVERSION. 

ONCE  I  had  a  heart  within, 

Thankless  and  opposed  to  God ; 

And,  wandering  in  the  ways  of  sin, 
In  wisdom's  ways  had  never  trod. 

Mercies  were  regarded  not, 

Judgments  came  my  soul  to  try, 

But  in  a  moment  were  forgot, 
And  left  me  still  to  vanity. 

But  the  Spirit  showed  at  last 
All  the  strictness  of  the  Law, 

And,  as  its  mirror  o'er  me  passed, 
My  heart's  depravity  I  saw. 

Then  my  soul,  in  deep  despair, 
Felt  within  the  rankling  dart ; 

But  Jesus  plucked  it  out  with  care, 
And  gave  a  renovated  heart. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  303 

What  I  loved  and  sought  before 

Pleases  me  no  longer  now ; 
But  at  the  cross  my  prayers  I  pour, 

At  Jehovah's  feet  I  bow. 


GATHER    THE    ROSES. 

"  GATHER  the  roses,  while  you  may, 

Old  time  is  still  a-flying ;  " 
But  not  the  roses  that  bloom  to-day, 

And  to-morrow  that  are  dying. 

Gather  the  roses  while  you  may, 
To  wreathe  thy  brow  of  sorrow; 

But  not  the  roses  that  bloom  to-day, 
And  wither  and  fall  to-morrow. 

Gather  the  roses  while  you  may, 

The  roses  that  are  glowing 
Where  the  balmy  gales  of  Eden  play, 

And  the  stream  of  life  is  flowing. 

Gather  the  roses  that  are  there, 
Your  temples  brightly  wreathing, 

And  the  touch  of  time  shall  ne'er  impair 
The  garland  so  bright  and  breathing. 


304  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 


DESIRING   TO    BE    WITH    CHRIST. 

I  BID  my  hours  to  hasten  on, 
That  I  may  be,  where  Christ  has  gone; 
With  him  I  long  in  heaven  to  meet, 
To  pay  my  honors  at  his  feet, 

Oh  thou  blest  Saviour !     Thou  dost  see 
How  sad  my  heart,  when  far  from  Thee ! 
E'en  here  on  earth  thy  love  I  share, 
But  I  had  rather  see  thee  there. 

Thou  said'st,  before  thy  feet  were  set 
Upon  their  march  from  Olivet, 
What  time  the  clouds  and  heavens  of  light 
Received  thee  from  the  gazer's  sight; 

That  thou  didst  go,  that  there  might  be 
A  place  prepared  for  us  and  Thee. 
Oh,  fit  me  for  that  dwelling-place, 
Where  I  shall  see  Thee  face  to  face ! 


MISSIONARY    HYMN. 


'T  is  now  the  time  of  strife  and  war, 
The  contest  sounds  on  every  side ; 

Nations  are  bound  to  Satan's  car, 

And  who  shall  meet  him  in  his  pride  ? 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  305 

Is  there  no  arm  his  power  to  break  ? 

Are  there  no  hearts  that  deeply  feel  1 
Sons  of  the  kingdom  !     Rise,  awake ! 

Obey  at  length  your  Saviour's  will ! 

Go,  swell  the  trumpet's  warning  voice, 

The  captive  sons  of  earth  to  tell 
Of  Him,  who  bids  the  saints  rejoice, 

Of  Him,  who  saves  the  soul  from  hell. 

Go,  bear  the  Gospel  banner  forth, 

Its  glittering  web  of  light  unroll, 
To  gleam  sublime  from  south  to  north, 

And  scatter  light  from  pole  to  pole. 

Hark  !     'T  is  the  trumpet's  warning  cry  ! 

Lo,  o'er  the  earth  the  banners  wave! 
The  Lord  of  glory  comes  from  high, 

To  rule,  to  conquer,  and  to  save. 


IN    ALL    THE    COUNTLESS    ORBS. 

IN  all  the  countless  orbs  that  shine 
Along  the  azure  halls  of  even, 

Is  seen  the  forming  hand  divine 

Of  Him,  who  rules  in  earth  and  heaven. 

Wherever  shines  their  silver  beam, 
Where'er  they  set,  where'er  they  rise, 

Appears  the  skill,  in  every  gleam, 

Of  Him  who  rules  the  earth  and  skies. 


306  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 

Then  go  at  night,  and  look  afar 
O'er  all  the  blue,  ethereal  sky, 

And  read  in  every  rolling  star 
The  glory  of  the  Deity. 

And  when  thou  readest,  think  that  thou 
Shouldst  not  withhold  the  tribute  due 

But  with  a  grateful  spirit  bow 

To  Him,  whose  mercy  thinks  of  you. 


THE    LATTER    DAY    GLORY. 

THE  day  of  light  is  but  beginning ; 

Millions  yet  in  darkness  lie, 
Ignorant  of  God,  and  sinning ; 

Thoughtless  of  their  destiny. 

The  day  of  light  is  just  appearing, 
Weak  and  transient  are  its  rays ; 

But  they  fill  our  souls  with  cheering 
Prospects  of  the  noontide  blaze. 

Oh,  may  the  coming  morning  brighten, 
With  its  splendors  beaming  wide, 

Till  its  blessed  rays  enlighten 
All,  who  on  the  earth  reside. 

And,  for  this  glorious  consummation, 
Let  each  Christian  watch  and  pray, 

And  the  church  in  every  nation 
Strive  to  hasten  on  that  day. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  307 

Though  raised  by  sinners  sunk  and  striken, 

Prayer  will  reach  Jehovah's  throne ; 
And  the  Saviour's  smile  will  quicken 
Hopes,  that  rest  on  him  alone. 


IF   THERE    E  ER   WAS    A    TIME. 

IF  there  e'er  was  a  time  of  rejoicing,  't  was  then 

When  we  first  broke  asunder  the  shackles  that  bound  us, 

And  walked  in  a  freedom  more  blest  than  of  men, 
For  the  smiles  of  the  Saviour  were  scattered  around  us. 

Drawn  forth  from  the  shades  of  our  prison,  we  deemed 
All  nature  resplendent  with  light  and  with  beauty  ; 

And  oft,  in  the  glow  of  our  feelings,  it  seemed 
We  ne'er  could  be  wanting  in  love  and  in  duty. 

And  shall  it  be  said,  that  our  souls  cease  to  love  ? 

And  shall  we  forget  so  transcendent  -a  blessing  ? 
Dear  Saviour,  look  down  from  thy  mansions  above, 

And  from  moment  to  moment  bestow  thy  refreshing. 

'T  is  in  Thee  that  we  live  ;  Thou  didst  give  us  our  life. 

'T  is  in  Thee  that  we  hope ;   let  thy  banner  be  o'er  us. 
Unless  Thou  dost  aid  us,  we  fail  in  the  strife, 

But  with  Thee  every  foe  shall  be  driven  before  us. 


308  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 


GOD  S    GLORY    IN    CREATION. 

WHENE'ER  I  see  the  morning  sun, 

Rejoicing  from  the  east  to  run, 

And  o'er  the  sky  his  journey  hold, 

With  eye  of  fire  and  robes  of  gold ; 

(So  proud  his  march,  so  bright  he  blazes, 

That  e'en  the  eagle,  as  he  gazes, 

Can  scarce  his  burning  track  behold  :) 

Whene'er  I  view  the  stars  display, 

To  deck  the  sky  their  silver  ray, 

And  mark,  along  the  welkin  wide, 

The  evening's  placid  empress  glide ; 

My  soul  is  full  of  Him,  who  made  them, 

The  God,  whose  magic  power  arrayed  them, 

In  all  their  beauty,  all  their  pride. 

Nor  this  alone ;  'T  is  God  doth  dress 

The  spring  in  all  its  loveliness  ; 

'T  is  God,  who  gives  to  field  and  bower, 

The  autumn's  fruit  and  summer's  flower. 

The  earth  we  tread,  the  heavens  that  bound  us, 

With  all  within  and  all  around  us, 

Declare  his  wisdom  and  his  power. 

Where'er  we  dwell,  where'er  we  go, 

On  hill  above,  or  vale  below, 

By  streams  through  distant  meads  that  glide, 

By  forests,  waving  in  their  pride  ; 

We  every  where  the  proof  discover, 

That  God  around  the  earth  doth  hover, 

And  dwells  forever  at  our  side. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS.  309 


ENCOURAGEMENT. 

SAY  not,  't  is  all  a  dreary  way, 

With  rocks  beset  with  briars  growing, 

Where  never  beams  of  sunlight  stray, 
And  ne'er  a  gentle  stream  is  flowing. 

Or  if  it  be,  that  thou  dost  go 

Through  scenes  so  darksome,  wild,  and  frightful, 
Yet  there  is  one  who  loves  thee  so, 

That  he  can  make  e'en  this  delightful. 

Jesus  is  ever  near  at  hand, 

To  aid,  to  guide,  and  to  deliver, 
With  his  own  arm,  the  chosen  band 

Which  he  hath  bought,  to  keep  forever. 

Then  drive  away  thy  doubts  and  fears, 
Nor  dread  the  ills  that  threat  to  hurt  thee ; 

For  Christ,  that  saw  thee  in  thy  tears, 
Hath  said,  He  never  will  desert  thee. 


DAY    OF   JUDGMENT. 

OFT,  when  the  shades  of  evening  come, 
And  still  the  caravan's  deep  hum, 
The  desert's  wind,  with  poisoned  breath, 
Sweeps  o'er,  and  smites  with  sudden  death. 
36 


310  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 

And  thus,  with  sudden,  deep  dismay, 
Shall  come  the  judgment's  awful  day, 
And  wide  the  final  trump  disperse 
Its  summons  through  the  universe. 

The  earth  shall  hear  the  trumpet's  tongue 
The  dead  arise,  both  old  and  young ; 
They  upward  look,  and  in  the  sky 
Read  their  eternal  destiny. 

Oh,  then  what  terrors  meet  the  view 
Of  those  who  now  the  earth  pursue ! 
Who  see  their  hopes  and  bliss  expire, 
Withered  and  burnt  in  penal  fire. 


THINK    NOT    THAT    THE    BLEST. 

THINK  not  that  the  blest,  whom  the  Lord  hath  befriended, 
Though  scorned  by  the  world,  and  though  smitten  with 
grief, 

Will  be  left  by  the  arm,  that  has  once  been  extended, 
To  suffer  and  perish  without  its  relief. 

Oh,  no  !     When  the  clouds  of  affliction  and  sorrow 
Encircle  their  souls  with  the  darkness  of  night, 

Thy  mercy,  Oh  God,  like  the  sun  of  to-morrow, 
Shall  gleam  on  the  shadows  and  turn  them  to  light. 

He  leaves  us  awhile  to  the  billow's  commotion, 
To  see  if  our  faith  in  the  storm  will  remain ; 

But  soon  He  looks  out  in  his  smiles,  and  the  ocean 
Is  hushed  from  its  threats,  and  is  quiet  again. 


RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS,  311 


RESURRECTION    OF    THE    SAINTS. 

FOOLS  make  a  mock,  while  scoffers  say, 
Where  is  the  great,  and  final  day  ?   . 
But  in  the  destined  hour  shall  rue, 
While  saints  rejoice,  that  God  is  true. 

Hark  !     Through  the  air  the  trumpet's  peal ! 
See !     Opening  graves  their  dead  reveal ! 
The  Saviour  from  the  dust  doth  claim 
The  blessed  followers  of  his  name. 

Their  troubled  souls  are  now  at  peace, 
Forever  now  their  conflicts  cease; 
Their  cruel  foes  no  longer  reign, 
Nor  sin  distresses  them  again. 


REMEMBRANCE    IN    PRAYER. 

WHEN  at  the  hour  of  prayer  thy  heart 
The  fervor  of  its  love  discovers, 
In  secret  as  thou  kneel' st  apart, 
And  many  an  angel  round  thee  hovers, 
Oh,  then  remember  me ! 

When  down  thy  cheeks  the  tear-drops  roll,, 
Of  gratitude  for  sins  forgiven, 
And  thou  dost  feel  within  thy  soul 
A  ray  of  joy  just  sent  from  heaven, 
Oh,  then  remember  me ! 


312  RELIGIOUS    HYMNS    AND    SONGS. 

For  who,  that  sees  thee  trembling,  kneeling, 
Or  may  thy  meek  entreaties  hear, 
To  Heaven  so  fervently  appealing, 
Will  not  believe  that  God  is  near  ? 
Oh,  then  remember  me  ! 

Ask  not  for  earthly  pomp,  or  pleasure  ; 
A  humble,  meek,  and  holy  heart 
To  me  is  far  a  greater  treasure, 
Than  earth's  vain  glories  can  impart. 
Oh,  thus  remember  me  ! 


THE    PASSING    OF    JORDAN. 
I. 

OH,  why  should  our  hopes  be  diminished  and  languish  ? 
And  hearts,  once  confirmed,  yield  to  fears  and  to  anguish  ? 
We  have  come  to  the  brink  of  the  dark  swelling  river  ; 
One  plunge  through  its  waves,  then  salvation  forever. 
"  Hallelujah  to  the  Lamb,  who  hath  purchased  our  pardon ; 
We  will  praise  him  again,  when  we  pass  over  Jordan." 

II. 

To  our  Saviour  we  look  ;  Oh,  what  care  hath  He  taken ; 
In  all  our  past  griefs  we  were  never  forsaken. 
He  hath  been  at  our  side,  in  the  flame  and  the  slaughter ; 
And  will  still  bear  us  up,  when  we  pass  the  dark  water. 
"  Hallelujah  to  the  Lamb,  who  hath  purchased  our  pardon ; 
We  will  praise  him  again,  when  we  pass  over  Jordan." 


RELIGIOUS    HVMNS    AND    SONGS.  313 

III. 

Redeemer  of  men  thou  art  holy  and  glorious ; 
Though  many  oppose,  thou  alone  art  victorious. 
Thou  wilt  ride  through  the  waves  with  the  great  congre- 
gation ; 

While  their  lips  shout  thy  praise,  and  rejoice  in  salvation. 
'•  Hallelujah  to  the  Lamb,  who  hath  purchased  our  pardon; 
We  will  praise  him  again,  when  we  pass  over  Jordan." 


THE    LAST    SONG. 

'T  is  said,  when  the  swan  is  dying, 
Ere  her  languid  eye  doth  close 

On  the  reeds  around  her  lying, 
Which  await  her  last  repose ; 

That  she  breathes  a  soft  lamenting, 
As  she  views  her  verdant  grave ; 

And  then  to  her  fate  consenting, 
Sinks  peaceful  beneath  the  wave. 

So,  when  life's  journey  is  ending, 
And  the  angels  bid  us  rise, 

From  the  shades  of  earth  ascending, 
To  assemble  in  the  skies  ; 

Oh,  then  may  the  song  that 's  meetest, 

No  longer  a  note  of  woe, 
From  our  lips  the  last,  the  sweetest, 

In  joy  and  in  triumph  flow. 


ERRATA. 

Page  20,  line  15  from  the  top,  for  there  read  their. 
"      61,  line  3d  from  the  bottom,  for  ceased  read  sealed. 


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